Neighbors Series
by Livi2Jack
Summary: If an ordinary person could really have a conversation with Jack and he would actually answer for whatever reason, what would be the subject? Gives a new meaning to nosy neighbors. Series of stand alone stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Neighbors**

By **Livi2Jack**

**Summary:** If an ordinary person could really have a conversation with Jack and he would actually answer for whatever reason, what would be the subject? Gives a new meaning to nosy neighbors.

**Rating:** Older Teens for subject matter and language

**Category**: Gen Humor, all out Fluff

**Season 11+ spoilers** (one could dream): including Season 10 of SG-1 and

SGA 3 because I can't keep it all straight.

**Characters**: Jack, Original Character, Team

**Warnings:** Language

Possible Series of one shots.

**Author's note**: One night on an instant message with Diane, I discussed the idea of actually meeting Jack. What would anyone say to him? What would he actually answer, assuming he would answer? Why would he answer? _THANK YOU, DIANE!_

**DISCLAIMER:** "Stargate SG-1/Atlantis" and its characters are the property of Sony Pictures, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Film Corp., Showtime/Viacom and USA Networks, Inc. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and story are the property of the author(s), and may not be republished or archived elsewhere without the author's permission.

**

* * *

Prelude: ****A conversation with Jack. **

It's not hard to say when we became chatty, all things considered.

The handsome silver-haired man moved in next door quietly one weekend without much fuss or fanfare. My family and I were away on one expedition or another to provision the house, fix the house, decorate the house, and clean the house… you name it. We were doing house stuff all day. We seem to spend so many weekends that way. I remember arguing once that we should live _**in**_ a house not _**for**_ a house.

The house won the argument.

I live in greater Metro Washington in one of those throwback neighborhoods where folks know each other. We make a point of knowing each other. It's the twenty first century and the 1950's are alive and kicking in these older areas. Here we stop to say hi on the evening dog walks. We chat about our gardens. We deplore the marine clay soil. We trade names of contractors to fix these old houses. We circulate a blacklist, which we label 'the Don't Call Sheet.' Once a month on the third Friday of every month, we get together for a potluck at one house or another. A group email goes out to remind us where. People sign up to host it a year in advance. We are a really together group of party animals.

In September, we also have the neighborhood block party in the cul de sac. Each household kicks in $25. Then, a few of the men rev up the bbqs and sling hot dogs and hamburgers. The committee orders a dozen pizzas. A few kegs are off on someone's lawn. Soft drinks, water, and wine chill in coolers. Everyone brings a dish. The neighborhood garage band assaults our ears. We also rent a jumping thingy for the kids who parade around on bicycles sporting the latest helmets and knee guards.

Heck when I was a kid we just fell down and skinned our knees, broke our arms, tore our pants, and went home crying to a mom who kissed us and made it all better. These days the kids on bikes look like linebackers at the Super Bowl. At least that's what I commented to the new guy. He was a quiet sort. Someone walked the September block party flyer around so he got one in his mail slot through the front door. Rumor has it the thing is never locked. We never did introduce ourselves before all hell broke loose.

We were standing by the keg when one of the kids crashed into another and totaled his bike on a trike. Screams and shouts made it look like a rush hour fender bender on the Capital Beltway. Over protective moms scooped up the kids to examine the damage at home. The fathers checked each other out to see if someone was going to sue. Satisfied, they went back to the keg or the bbqs or the sports scores knowing the women would fuss and feel needed.

I watched him.

He had to be military. No one scans a situation like that unless has had practice. I watched him tense. I saw the involuntary clench of the jaw. His fingers flexed without leaving his side. Yet, it was the deep-set eyes that kept my attention. Nothing at that gathering escaped him. He was pure Alpha Male.

It's a good thing I'm married. I have my own boy toy. Guys like that don't notice dumpy middle-aged women hot flashing from the sulfites in the wine. The doctor finally solved that mystery. I thought I was losing my mind. Menopause is bad enough, but the hot flashes are diabolical. Sulfites in wine make it worse. At a dinner party last winter, I literally rolled in the snow outside, thinking I would spontaneously combust. Yeah, quite a picture of a woman dressed in St. John, lying down on the front lawn pretending to make snow angels. I tell you, if men had this problem, they would have had a cure ten thousand years ago. I ruined a new pair of suede Ferragamos that night in the slush I made.

The neighbors are still talking about it.

"The Change of Life" has not improved my volatile yet sunny disposition. Feel sorry for my husband. Now I have an excuse for eruptions of my discontent. So at 3 am, I was freaking out on the cell phone to my friends in California 3 hours behind us. They are still up at midnight because the "Change" has gotten hold of a few of them, too. At least I have company of sorts at 3 am. Anyway, I was out on my deck over looking the backyard. There's a wooded lot behind the houses. I call it the 'back forty.' In there, I let the dog loose at 3 am when I'm too lazy to go out in the rain or the snow to walk him. Sure, it's illegal. Let that other insomniac the menopausal hellcat down the hill there yell at me for another round of tipped over trashcans. I say a fox or coyote did it.

It's my story and I'm sticking to it.

With this insomnia, I can go for days without sleep. Heck I can't sleep. Not content to have hot flashes, I was having night sweats so badly I thought the dog had slobbered on me. Hubby was down for the count, snoring so rhythmically I wondered how many trees he had sawed into logs. It was get up or shove a pillow down his throat. As long as I was up prowling the kitchen, the dog figured that there had to be something in it for him.

That night was the second time I saw him, the new neighbor man. I was prowling the kitchen looking for something to kill, disembowel, behead, or generally gut in my frustration over no sleep for the second night in a row. To cool off, I went outside in the cold October night, no Indian summer that year. I breathed some brisk fall snap in the air hoping for relief. Sure enough, he was out too. I guessed he couldn't sleep either. He was out on his deck with a telescope on that moonless night. He didn't see me at first. Although once the dog padded out, he barked. No one misses the deep barrel-chested bark of my hundred-pound beastie. That's his name, Beastie.

So sue me.

The bark startled him. He swung around to see my shadowy bulk. His alarm turned to annoyance. He moved his stuff away to the far side of the deck. He could have said hello. _**Screw him**_, I thought and let the dog out for his 3 am promenade. My yellow lab never lacks a sense of humor. He promptly went over to the man's yard and took a dump. Dang, couldn't he have done it ten feet away in the woods as usual? Of course, that man saw it. Nothing for it, I went inside for a quart-sized baggie to scoop it.

Well, as I bent down to gather the historic 10,000th Beastie crap, I heard a strange whine and then saw a flash of bright white light. That man disappeared right before my eyes. It was like some Star Trek thing. I saw him go. I saw the look of surprise. Apparently, he saw mine. The next thing I knew, I was standing in a hall.

There I was in all my glory: ratty purple bathrobe, aqua blue and jade green striped pajamas, and pink fuzzy slippers holding a baggie of dog shit. I wondered if he was staring at the color clash or at my Double D-sized breasts hanging freely down to my belly button underneath the robe. He was looking at the breasts. Men are such hound dogs.

I looked down to be sure nothing was exposed.

Definitely not the way you want to make the acquaintance of a Roswell Grey. I looked at it. It looked at me. I looked at the neighbor. He looked at me. They both saw the baggie of steaming dog excrement.

"Thor, you got a trash can or airlock or something for that?"

"What is it, O'Neill?"

"Um, you don't want to know. Just how do we get rid of it?"

"Is it dangerous?"

"It's nuclear dog poop," I sputtered too loudly. More words spewed out of my ladylike mouth. "Fresh and hot, too!"

Then I started laughing my head off. I've been told that laughter in some situations is the same as tears. I couldn't stop laughing. Not the reaction either one of them expected or quite knew what to do about. So my neighbor, "O'Neill," sidled up to me to relieve me of the swinging bag of poop. With two fingers, he set it down on the floor. The little Roswell activated something and an S-shaped object appeared. O'Neill picked it up and unloaded three electrical charges on it, making it disappear.

**_…..._**

I can't tell you why I had this sense of loss.

"So, Thor, what's she doing here?"

"I was concerned that she would have an adverse reaction to your transport and alert your news media."

"Thor, buddy, it's ok. They wouldn't believe her anyway. Send her back."

"I disagree, O'Neill." The little Roswell walked back to some recliner chair and sat down pressing buttons. "Already, too many people on Earth have actual knowledge of the program. Everyday, more people disclose the truth. It is only a matter of time now. Anyway, we are nearing our destination."

"Destination?" I felt some panic growing.

"O'Neill has an appointment he must keep. **You **will remain here. I have erected a force field to hold you in this room until we return shortly. You must not touch anything," he narrowed his eyes in menace. I blinked and looked at the neighbor for a clue. He shrugged.

"So how is an X-Files adventure going to keep the secret?" I looked to this man 'O'Neill' for some sign he would help me. "Besides, my dog is still loose."

O'Neill sighed out a heavy, 'oy.'

"He's pretty stupid about cars. By the way, my dog is epileptic. It's a defect in the breed. Labradors have that problem, especially the yellow ones." I was blathering. "And he'll tip over the trash cans of that bitch down the hill. He's a real garbage hound."

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling exposed. Tears welled up. It's one of the problems I have these days. The hormones rage and ebb randomly. One moment I'm ready to do battle with the lawn service. Then next moment I'm a puddle of emotional goo. It is sooooooo not me. I take Premarin, but that's not the end all be all in this deal. O'Neill frowned, setting me off big time. I felt so stupid snuffling and sniveling.

Honestly, think about it from my point of view.

An alien abducted me via a Star Trek transporter! So cool!

_**But…**_

I just met a Roswell grey… while holding a bag of dog shit!

I wasn't wearing a bra.

I had no make up on.

My hair was a mess.

My epileptic dog was loose, running around the neighborhood, tipping over trashcans, eating garbage. I'm telling you he will have the runs for a week. If he didn't get hit by a car, he would probably throw up on the carpet again to boot.

To top it off, I was going to miss my monthly bridge game with the ladies in the neighborhood that morning if they didn't take me straight home. Now I'll miss this week's gossip.

I ask you. Standing there bra-less in your fuzzy pink slippers, wouldn't you cry, too?

"Oh for crying out loud, don't do…that."

He offered me his hanky. I blew and blew again.

"What's your name?"

"Libby…short for Elizabeth. What's yours?"

"General Jack O'Neill, ma'am, U.S. Air Force, Earth."

"Sure you are. So are you going to kill me?"

"What?" He seemed confused. "No, of course not, but we are going to have to have a little chat about all this."

I nodded still snuffling and blowing.

"But it will have to wait until my …appointment is done." He glared at the Roswell grey. "My buddy, Thor…Thor… Libby, my neighbor."

"Greetings Libby."

"Um, greetings." I looked back at O'Neill. "You do this often?"

"Sort of."

"Anyone else know?"

"A few."

"Any of them ours?"

"Yes," he grinned. I grinned a dopey grin back through the tears. "You're okay with all this?"

"Assuming you aren't going to experiment on me or throw me out an airlock… yeah."

"Cool."

"Way cool." I looked around. The place seemed under control, but you never know in sci-fi. "So, no demon jackalope going to kill us all?"

"Huh? Uh, no."

"What now?"

"We go wash our hands?"

"Right, bathroom?"

He looked to the Roswell, who pointed. Behind a panel, a door swung open. I looked inside. It looked like a normal bathroom. I looked back at the Roswell. These things were way too big for him without a booster seat. I had not seen any equipment on the little naked grey fella. Not my problem, so I went and closed the door realizing I had to pee something awful.

In the mirror, I ran my fingers through my hair. The gray was really showing. Shit! Why couldn't they come for me tomorrow after the hairdresser's? Ack! My fingernail polish was chipped, too. They must think I'm a cliché for the slovenly housewife who let herself go. Heck, I clean up ok but June Cleaver I'm not. Well there was nothing for it. It was what it was. Tossing my hair and tilting my head up, I came out. I'm president of the Garden Club after all. Honey, I learned a long time ago. If you are screwed, attitude can take you a long way.

I had no idea how far.

O'Neill exited another room next to mine, looking satisfied. Men! They always look great. Tall and fit, he was at ease in his white pants with the rolled up cuffs, black long sleeved t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He looked hot! We girls have to work so hard to push things into place. Speaking of which…

"General O'Neill, did I see him make one of those ray gun thingies?"

"Um, yes."

In a low voice, I asked, "Could he make me a bra? This is so embarrassing."

O'Neill went over to the little guy and said something. They looked at me trying to guess.

"38 Double D."

They whispered some more.

"I believe your correct size is a 40E."

Presto, one size 40 E bra appeared. I went over to it, touched it, and realized something.

"No bow."

"What?"

"No bow," I raised my eyebrows. "It won't work without the little bow. Humph."

I pointed to where it should be. This is a running joke between my husband and me. We decided that every bra has to have a little decorative bow in the middle or it won't work. I managed to confuse the two of them, stumped them good.

"Never mind," I huffed a little to show I wasn't intimidated. Picking it up with all the disdain I could manage, I went back to the bathroom with the substandard foundation garment.

Thank god for bras. When you are this well endowed, not wearing one hurts. Anyway, I couldn't admit I wasn't wearing any underwear beneath my pajama bottoms. It was all so embarrassing and surreal. To my horror when I came out, both of them were gone.

Imagine that, they left me alone in that big hall without so much as a by your leave. They probably thought a woman would take forever in the bathroom, then sit here afraid and cry. It was the hormones pal! Screw that, besides it gives me a headache along with a stuffy nose. So I looked around. Not a clue except for the consoles and the chair with all the buttons. I tried the chair but it was "toooooo small!" Yeah, me and Goldilocks. Believe me; I've seen enough science fiction shows to know there has to be voice-activated stuff. My cell phone is voice activated. Why not some of this? So I gave it a go.

"Computer, on."

"Computer."

"Computer, show me where we are in relationship to Earth."

A hologram appeared of the spiral arms of the galaxy. Big red arrows pointed to the two locations. Wow, we were out there!

"Computer, identify Thor and his job description."

"Thor is the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet."

"Who are the Asgard?"

"A race of people originating on the planet of Hala in the galaxy of Ida."

"Who is General Jack O'Neill?"

"General Jack O'Neill is a career Air Force officer in charge of the United States' Department of Homeworld Security. He is presently assigned to the Pentagon in Washington, DC, planet Earth."

"Describe the purpose or mission statement of the Department of Homeworld Security."

The computer answered question after question. I became better at narrowly formulating each inquiry. By the end of the hour, I knew all about Stargate Command, the Stargates, the Goa'uld, the Replicators, the Asgaard, the Jaffa, the Antarctic Chair, and Atlantis.

Not bad for an old gal like me.

I only have two college degrees even if I was playing housewife the past couple of years. I spent a lifetime as a CPA doing audits and crunching numbers. Numbers and other data are mother's milk. Follow the money, that's my motto. You find out EVERYTHING.

Add to it all the fact my husband is a physicist and I had to listen to him for the past 24 years… (I gave up a year ago… we've been together for 25 but I can fake it now…) I should have a degree in Physics for non-physics majors. Presto, here I am and now the Asgard have a sci-fi buff doing a forensic audit on their sweet little alien computer bank.

By the time the two of them returned, I knew the annual budget for the IOA and the Department of Homeworld Security broken down by centers of operation. From that, I knew how many people were involved. I knew how many ships were in production. I knew budget variances to date. They really were blowing their budgets. I knew how the next year's budget requests had faired in the Senate Appropriations Committee. They're a bunch of cheap bastards considering what is at stake. So I knew how many more ships they wanted to build along with the new off world bases. This was great stuff!

I even discovered why the Vice President resigned abruptly. Sheesh. Talk about a pain in the neck.

With a virtual console, the computer taught me how the transporter activation and targeting sequence worked. Put the funny little rocks on the console in a certain position and poof… I'm Chief O'Brien and the Enterprise is real.

But the sweetest nugget of information I found out was that …I … little ole me… this is so way cool… I have the Ancient gene in spades.

Woo Hoo!

I think.

Now, what do I want?

Thor and his good buddy, 'O'Neill', returned in a flash of light. O'Neill set down the case he had acquired on his appointment with the Asgaard Science Council. Yes, I knew where he went and why but I wasn't ready to tell him I knew. He looked at me trying to decide where to begin.

How would any man begin staring at the pink fuzzy slippers? I had been so engrossed with the information I retrieved that I didn't bother to learn how to replicate myself a pair of Farragamos size 9B. Lord knows I deserved a treat after this little experience. I decided then and there, after this little tête-à-tête, someone was going to pay. That someone was my neighbor.

Let the games begin.


	2. Chapter 2: The Right Stuffings

**Neighbors Series: The Right Stuffings!**

**Summary: **How do you explain Stargates and aliens to your next-door neighbor? Jack O'Neill and Libby, his neighbor, have to come to terms with her impromptu abduction by Thor. The lady has questions. Does Jack have the right answers? Second in a series of conversations.

**Author's Note:** In defense of a Mary Sue character, I would say there is a place for one in parody and humor. I take issue with people who can't see the humor of placing an author's avatar in a story for fun. That's what fanfiction is for...fun. If you read the various definitions of a Mary Sue, the only conclusion anyone can reach is that every non-canon Other Character ( O/C ) is a Mary Sue. Phooey. This is fanfiction. Get over it.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 2**

I'm vacillating. I'm vacillating between fear and sweat, sweat and fear.

What the hell am I doing here on an alien ship in my pajamas?

I'm a fairly intelligent middle-aged woman who has lived her whole adult life in major metropolitan areas. I've traveled widely. I'm educated, jaded, …and dated. What I'm saying is this old gal has been around the block. I'm nobody's fool. And right now, I feel threatened. I know my life is on the line. But it is all so surreal I can't get my mind around it.

I'm running out of adrenaline. I've been up for days and I'm about to crash and burn. There's a problem, however.

Well actually, now I have two problems, who are staring straight at me. The first problem is the little Roswell Grey who abducted me. He left my other problem to deal with me. Tall, gorgeous Silver Fox has eyes I could drown in. He is also my new neighbor. I'm talking about a general supposedly in my country's service. My taxpayer dollars pay this man's salary to go hobnob with aliens who make the X-Files look like a low budget 1970's exploitation movie at the local grindhouse. Hey pal, a bucket of popcorn with extra butter isn't going to soft soap me this time.

This whole thing is beyond my range of experiences. But I'm sure as heck not going to stand around and let them do whatever it is they are going to do with me. I'm not gonna roll over and play dead… or I'll be dead. This little adventure is about to jump the shark. And that man staring at me isn't the Fonz on a three-quarter sized motorcycle. C'mon, I am standing on an alien space ship in my pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers. Somehow I have to get out of here. But to where?

It's the dawn of the Twenty-first Century. I'm up on all the cultural imperatives Hollywood has spoon-fed us for forty years and then some. I know my aliens. Hell, I saw _My Favorite Martian_ first run in black and white. I've seen every TV series and major motion picture in the genre just like everyone else that came of age on "_Lost In Space, Star Wars, Mork and Mindy, Star Trek Original_"….Nanu Nanu Live Long and Prosper.

After watching 41 years of Star Trek, I guessed I could ask the computer a question or two or three or forty. I got a grip on myself long enough to take a shot at scoping the problem. By talking at the computer bank, I did manage to access it. Voice activated gizmos are common these days. My cell phone gets the "name dial" command right about 90 percent of the time. However, I'm not exactly the generic Mary-Sue. I'm in my late 40's, going gray, and have that middle-age spread. Hacking by voice command is not exactly the domain of computer geniuses. You just need to be persistent and well…relentless…and scared.

The probably human male and I are watching, assessing each other. What an improbably handsome man! I don't measure up. It's in his eyes. That face gives away nothing, but the eyes say it all. He keeps stealing glances at my chest. He's a man not a Roswell. Still and all, he looks tough and quite scary. He's trying to look genial but it's not gonna fly. He's figuring out how to manipulate me. I'll let him start. You never know. There might be a way out or something more if I just keep my mouth shut…for once.

"What's in the case?"

"Nuthin'," he leaned against the wall oh so casually. That man is hot! "Um…Libby? I'm hoping you've heard of "Classified?"

"As in …DON'T FREAKING TELL ANYONE?"

I grinned a nasty rueful 'don't play me fella' grin. Why can't I ever stifle myself?

"Right."

"No, haven't heard about it, do tell."

"Now listen up because I'm only going to say this once. This is serious, lady."

_'What the heck do I tell her?' Jack O'Neill contemplated the woman so miserable and garishly attired before him. 'She's handling this too well. She should be hysterical, although that laughing jag came close. Hmmm, she seems to be intelligent. Nice rack, must be natural at her size. Don't go there, she's your neighbor. Am I gonna have to move? Crap.'_

He launched off the wall toward me and into his 'I'm the General-mode.' Giving me a speech on National Security, he put on his scary authority command persona. It was scary. He got in my personal space. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was intimidating me.

Good job!

Listen, I'm not small at 5'6" and well, I'm guessing pound for pound, we are about even. He's too lean and I'm too fat. He's too gorgeous. And I'm too married. This is not the time or the place. He's so tall that I look up his nose as he leans forward so close.

He should trim those nose hairs.

Eeeewwwww! What is it with men and nose hair? They lose it on top and it migrates everywhere else but where it should be. Uh oh, he's done or took a breath. Doesn't matter.

"You've GOT to be kidding. Ok, Mulder, for the purposes of this conversation, I'm Scully. And that," I pointed back to Thor, "that is 'the Truth that's out there?' Get real."

I rolled my eyes, never, never cave up front. I have one shot in these negotiations. The best defense is a good offense. I am seriously offended…and scared. I'm starting to sweat, again. This is so weak.

"That was rude."

"Rude? Rude is kidnapping someone in her pajamas! Now, unless you are really going to throw me out an airlock, how about approaching me like a normal intelligent human being?"

"I did."

"No you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't."

"Oy."

He rubbed the hairs at the nape of his neck. Men! They do stuff like that when they are about to lay down the law and have to pretend they aren't pissed so you will listen. Then they try talking softly so you won't notice they're talking down to you like a child.

"I don't have to talk to you at all. I can have …"

"What? Have what? Have me thrown in jail? I didn't kidnap me. I didn't agree to any of this. Make me disappear? If you go there, you had better do it, because if you just threaten me, I'll file charges."

Hands went straight to my, ahem, ample hips. Pursing my lips with that don't mess with me look, too late I realized that my tactical sweetness and light strategy went out that airlock.

"Aw crap."

"No shit!"

"I was going to say I can have you debriefed by professionals back home. I don't usually do it myself. I'm trying to decide where to do it."

"How about at the Pentagon? If you really are a general, it's close to home and I might still make my bridge game at noon. Phhhhhffffftttt, My hairdresser's appointment at nine is shot. Oh, and my dog is still loose!"

"Ohhhhhhh….x$!...O'Neill!" Thor hissed.

We both spun around to look. His fingers moved quickly and he muttered softly. Then he looked at me and narrowed those big black bottomless eyes on that huge head.

"What?"

"The woman may dress extravagantly in colorful clothing, appearing to be simple minded," he continued operating the console then looked up at O'Neill, "but she accessed the computers while we were gone."

_Aw SHIT…SHIT…SHIT…SHIT…CRAP! There goes my advantage. Goddamnitalltohell._

"How bad," O'Neill asked in clipped tones.?

Thor looked down and shook his head. "It is my fault. I did not think to lock her out."

"How bad?"

"The computer will not respond properly."

"What did you do to the computer, Libby," O'Neill asked me much too mildly?

"Nothing, we had a little chat." I struck first. "No crime in talking to the computer is there? Not like …oh say…_KIDNAPPING _is a crime?"

Thor continued to mutter but the computer muttered back, almost whining. It got louder.

"If I have to ask 'how bad' again, I'm so gonna…"

"I didn't do anything but talk to Brunehilde. We were both lonely and she felt like company. So we swapped recipes."

"Don't think you can change the subject," O'Neill growled. "Wait, who?"

"Brunehilde and I had a little chat. I told you." Looking at the little grey fella, I added, "She feels you don't pay enough attention to her. And she says you reneged on the body, Thor." I sniffed at the welcher.

"What? Thor?"

"Brunehilde is the computer, O'Neill."

"Your computer is named Brunehilde? I thought you folks didn't… well you know…but I suppose if you wanted a woman computer …but why would you?"

"I do not."

"Didn't you know? Come on, the name alone…" I said meekly, faking it.

I gave him my dumb as a doorknob blank look. Hey it usually works. Men expect you to be dumb and clueless. I remember the time I went to audit progress payments at an aircraft manufacturer. They took one look at a 24-year-old girl and thought I was such a joke they left me in the files room and went to a 3 hour birthday lunch, coming back drunk. I found a $2.2 million deliberate 'error' to over bill my client. Then, I got the drunken sots to sign the file copy. Feigning distress, I told them I didn't want my supervisor to yell at me for getting the wrong piece of paper. To help the little lady, they signed that paper and said it was 'all correct' along with their phone extensions and signatures, dated to boot. They patted my shoulder and told me not to let the mean old supervisor yell at me. Just have him call them.

I got a promotion for that one and have been playing dumb ever since.

"Well just put it back the way you found it, Libby."

"I _didn't_ do it." In my best Scarlett O'Hara imitation I let fly, "I can't think about it anymore. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."

"Can you fix it?" O'Neill asked Thor.

"I am attempting to repair the problem now."

It sounded like the computer was giving 'Thor' some grief. Both of us stared at the Roswell murmuring and getting more frustrated. Man, that Brunehilde was really handing it to Thor. Anyone could tell.

"You could try apologizing to her, Thor," I suggested nicely, trying to be helpful. After all, that alien could beam me into space in a heartbeat. "You get more flies with honey than vinegar."

He narrowed his eyes. "I do not desire to catch flies with honey or vinegar."

"It's an expression. What I'm saying is make nice to her."

"Libby, stay out of this. You've done enough."

"But, he's…"

"It would be better to remove her from my ship." Thor looked at me, eyes narrowing to small slits.

"Remove as in…?"

"The nearest planet with a Stargate," he finished. "You can take her home from there."

"Thor, that's not such a good idea." O'Neill pulled his hands out of his pockets. "I'm just saying…"

Whoosh…we were standing in a field. Yikes! There were two moons overhead. I turned 360 degrees. Up on some pedestal was a big round ring. Yep, it had to be the Stargate. Anyway, it matched the picture from the data banks.

"Oh for crying out loud!" O'Neill huffed and starred down at the DHD.

I undid my robe, fanning myself with the front flap. I had been sweating again. And now it was hot and humid. Or maybe it was me. These hot flashes are so inopportune. I think I smelled something like b.o. coming on under my pits. Great…he could literally smell my fear. I hadn't showered before bed, thinking I'd do it in the morning. Moreover, I didn't like the look of absolute calm he was giving me. Was he going to kill me here and have done with it?

_Danger, Will Robinson, danger!_

So what was stopping him? Simple solution, no habeas corpus the missing persons bureau would never figure it out. He is a general who just moved in next door. No connection, case closed.

Or would it?

How many folks have you made disappear? Are they on your trail like John Wayne Gacy? Nah, with these resources your ass is covered.

Or is it?

I removed the robe. I was boiling hot again. Sweat dripped down my neck. I hate when that happens. The whole backside of my head slicks down with sweat like a wet mop. You could wring it out. I wiped my face with my sleeve. What was he waiting for?

"Now what?" I demanded at last.

"Um, I'm not sure which one is the point of origin."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"I mind, ok, I mind very much."

"Just, let me think."

"Right, you're the general." I rolled my eyes.

He hit a few of the symbols, hesitated, and pressed two more. Looking up expectantly at the ring, he was disappointed when nothing happened.

He tried again. He tried once more. He was sweating now too. Off came the leather jacket. He rolled up his sleeves.

"Maybe if you explain the problem to me I could help."

"Probably not," he hit a few more combinations.

"Try me."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Ohhhhhhh, sooooooo like a man!"

I lost it all together. When a woman feels like crap, is having hot flashes, and is under that kind of stress, look out! My rant got going and had no end in sight.

"What, you think just because I look like a lunatic, your neighbor is a brain dead housewife? Of all the arrogance! You know nothing about me!" By then, I was screaming at him. "I'm in menopause because I had a hysterectomy. I didn't have a lobotomy!"

_(Although sometimes it feels that way.)_

"Do. Not. Talk. Down. To. _**ME!**_"

He cringed. Great! Once you get a guy to cringe, you win. Add some tears and they don't know if they are going or coming. I had genuine tears of frustration. Okay, not so genuine, I wiped away the sweat as if it were tears and sniffled for good measure. Long time ago, I was in a sorority. You learn these things.

"See these buttons? I have to press seven of these in the right order to make it work."

"And…"

"And then we walk through it and go home."

"But?"

"I only need one more to start it up. I don't recognize some of these."

"How many?"

"Many."

"Well if you press the wrong one what happens?"

"Nothing."

"So you lose nothing by pressing them all?"

That's a lot."

"It's 33," I pointed out. "There are 39 of these buttons. You know 6 out of 7. You only have to try 33 times to find the seventh, unless some of the six are duplicated in the combination."

"No duplicates."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I'm not sure which galaxy we are in."

I must have looked dubious.

"Thor sometimes goes to a galaxy far, far away."

"So then what?"

"Then we need eight chevrons…er, buttons."

"Chevrons? Those symbols?" Jack nodded to me. "Then that's a lot." I tried to think in that heat. It wasn't working.

"I remember this in statistics. Binomial coefficients, I hated those problems. The equation involved an exclamation point. The exclamation point always scared me. Let's see if I can remember this."

N!/K! is the formula. K objects chosen from N objects. The Numerator is all the combinations. Denominator gets rid of duplications. There are 39 symbols. He needs 7 symbols. He's got 6. So, there are 39-6 33 chances for the last one. So that's K. Then, N is 39. 39!/7 is the total possible combinations for all seven slots. Something about a triangle. Oh hell, I forget this shit. Geez…

"There are a gazillion planets out there with Stargates! Do the math!

"I know."

"What happens if we need 8 numbers? We could be here the rest of our lives."

"We may not have the power to do it anyway."

_Time to reveal something. We have to get out of here. It's self-preservation, after all._

"General, I'm sure we are still in the Milky Way."

His head jerked up to look at me. Slowly he turned gave me that look again.

"How do you know?"

"Brunehilde showed me where we were. We were pretty far, but in the same galaxy, different spiral arm though."

"Of course she did," he started to press combinations again and again. "What else did she tell you?"

"Not much."

"Uh huh," he kept pressing. "Give me a for instance."

I shrugged and looked up at the sky. Another moon was rising on the horizon. I undid another button on my pajama top. It was freaking hot there. I would have taken the thing off but modesty prevented me. Modesty was losing. A bra is no different from a bikini bathing suit top anyway. While I was debating that idea, shirt or no shirt he asked me a question. I think I'm losing my hearing these days. On the other hand, maybe my concentration is what's shot to hell.

"I'm sorry. I don't hear so well, what?"

"So, Libby, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm retired…for now."

"Oh, and what did you do?" He kept trying the DHD.

"I was an accountant, a CPA."

"Oh," he said with disappointment.

"Why the 'oh' like that?"

"Most of them have no sense of humor."

"That's not nice."

"Sorry. I was hoping you were an engineer or something like that," he said more brightly.

"My husband is a physicist. Does that count?"

He gave me a wonderful smile. Wow, that was amazing! It changed his whole face!

"I know one, an astrophysicist."

"You mean the people across the street, who work for NASA?"

"They do? No kidding," he said flatly without much interest.

"I guess that seems…irrelevant to you these days…knowing all this I suppose." I thought for a minute and asked," is that why they just cut NASA's budget?"

"Hmmm, no, no… well sorta, but it's not why you think."

"Well, they just closed up some big projects and laid off lots of scientists. Was that because of this?"

"Not, exactly," he kept pressing but he was evading my questions.

"Can't you hire them for some of this? You are going to lose that talent forever. They'll go work someplace else."

"It's not lost."

"Easy for you to say," I added sadly. Those guys and their wives were my friends. "My hubby used to work on some of those programs. However, Congress slashed the budget for research for the last several years. Hubby made the exodus a few years back. Most of our friends are leaving NASA and trust me they aren't coming back."

"They'll find something. Bright guys like that always do. Some probably will work for us."

"Why would you want our guys when you have Thor and Brunehilde to give you all the answers?"

"Because, Thor doesn't give us all the answers. He sort of points us in the right direction. Very rarely, he actually helps us directly. Then our guys have to pick it all apart and backwards engineer it."

"Engineers," I spat. "That's not the same thing as doing fundamental research. If you don't keep researching now, in ten or fifteen years our country is screwed. The ideas have to come now or there won't be any to use in production then."

"We have plenty of research going on, don't you worry."

"I worry. There's a lead time to all those fancy toys you military guys want."

"I know that, too."

"So what was in the case you brought back, more alien tech to backwards engineer? Did they throw us a bone?"

"Something like that."

"So, you've diverted all the research funding into figuring out what these little Roswell Greys have already figured out or did they also give you the blueprints?"

"Sorry, need to know." He kept trying to get that thing to turn on. Sweat ran down his face. So, it wasn't just my hormones. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. He thought I was crying again.

"Look," he straightened up to take a moment. "I'm sorry. I am sorry this happened to you. I am sorry you are in this predicament. I never expected this. I promise I'll get you home, ok?"

I nodded a little uncertainly. Excuses are just that, excuses. He could still dump me some place or off me and be done with it. I didn't know this guy from Adam. Better not to antagonize him anymore than I had.

"I know you will," I said backpedaling to smooth things over. "It's just… interesting. That's all. I mean how many times will I ever get to have a conversation about this again or talk to you. You'll probably never speak to me again. Humph, you'll probably move."

"It's not that I don't want to talk to you about this. I can't. As long as you sign the non-disclosure agreement and keep it, we should be ok as neighbors. I'll make it up to you. Come over for a BBQ."

"Really? You don't have to," I said with some doubt and hope all mixed together. My thoughts went back to my home. "I hope my dog got home ok."

"I'll help you look for him. Dogs are my favorite people."

I got another brilliant smile. Oh wow! Someone should bottle that smile. He pulled off his long sleeved t-shirt. Now I AM hot. If he can stare at my chest, I could return the favor.

"I'd rather not move. I was starting to like the neighborhood."

"Well, you certainly broke in the neighbors." I laughed. "I already know your secret."

"Yeah, about that," he wiped his face with the shirt and went back to punching the DHD. "How much did you learn from old Brunehilde up there?"

"Not much, you know, girl talk."

He smirked. "Ok, I'll play. What sort of girl talk did you have with the girl computer?"

"It was mostly her whining about how pissed she is at Thor for being such a hard ass. How he ignores her after promising he wouldn't."

"But he said he didn't know she was a 'girl' computer."

"He was LYING." I smirked and chuckled. "They've been together for a couple hundred years. Didn't you hear them bickering like an old married couple? How long does his kind live anyway?"

"Long." O'Neill was getting frustrated punching combinations. "Well, that's a first."

"What is?"

"Thor lying to me."

"You don't strike me as the naïve type, General."

"Call me Jack."

"Jack. Okay, Jack, why would he have to lie about his girlfriend the computer?"

"I don't know. Did she tell you?"

"All I know is that she thinks he led her on, so probably he's embarrassed you found out."

"I don't get that."

"She thinks he promised her a body, but he never gave her one. I told her she doesn't have to take that crap. Hasn't she heard of women's lib? That's when she started to cry. Brunehilde told me he was only interested in her mind as a tool to run the ship. It was so sad."

"I'll bet."

Jack didn't look amused. I was guessing it had to do with the combinations not working for him. Could it be something to do with the computer problem? Who knew?

"Can he do it?"

"Do what?"

"Give her a body?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, she seemed so sure."

"They can do amazing things, but I don't know that one."

I didn't tell him all that she said. However, I got the impression that downloading and uploading minds to bodies was a normal thing. The body switching was worrisome. Were they stealing humans and downloading into them?

"It would be the ultimate cliché," I murmured more to myself.

"What would?"

"The old body snatching thing to implant an alien consciousness," I replied. "Done to death, you know?"

"You know, I hate clichés." He smirked. "Okay, well you didn't know it but I do."

"So are they? Are they body snatchers? Are you placating them with human bodies?"

"Huh, oh no, not them."

"Not them? So who then?"

"Look, this is all need to know kinda stuff. Just be happy you don't know."

"So there are body snatchers!???!"

"Simmer down, ma'am. We have a handle on it."

"You're kidding me? Ah, I see. To throw me off the scent, you're giving me a load of crap."

"Whatever."

"Oh, then the whole world is ok with it? I mean don't we have to fight or something? A few ships aren't going to make a dent in this problem."

"So Libby," Jack took another break from punching combinations. "Just what did your girlfriend tell you about all that?"

He stared at me with those deep-set brown eyes, boring into my soul. What a hunkalicious man he is! More to the point, what would he do to me if I told him?

"Nothing much, just that Thor likes you, a lot. How did you meet?" Change the subject to him. Good ego stroking should divert him. Men like to talk about themselves. They like it only second to sex.

"Libby, you just said a few ships aren't going to make a dent."

_**Me and my big mouth!**_

"All of it, this time. I'm not kidding."

He meant it. Back to his intense 'I'm the General' persona. Well I'm stuck with him out here and he's my ticket home. He'd better hurry up because this planet is really hot and uncomfortable. Besides, maybe I can wangle my way out of a bullet in the head. I started to sweat even more at that thought. I know he's fishing for something.

"Um, Jack," I started slowly. "You see, I, um, uh, feel, well, you know, scared. And, well, do you think that maybe you could just figure I'm an American too and one of the good guys so maybe uh, you wouldn't, you know…kill me if I tell you?"

"I already said I wouldn't kill you. I'll leave that pleasure for your husband."

"Funny."

Maybe he meant it! My husband wouldn't hurt a fly…unless some body snatching alien got hold of him. Maybe Jack was an alien too on the inside. Maybe they had infiltrated our military! Oh oh oh, no, no no, I am so screwed!

"Libby?"

"Um," I started slowly and softly. "How do I know you are a general? I mean maybe you are one of those aliens like Thor on the inside, and maybe well, don't kill me please, but how do I know you aren't a downloaded Brunehilde?"

He frowned. I thought he was going to kill me on the spot. I saw him reaching into his pocket. My throat constricted. He withdrew his wallet. I thought he was going to bring out a weapon. Phew!

"Here."

He handed me a little piece of paper.

…

_**?? Huh?**_

We're on an alien planet and the man actually handed me his business card!

OMG!

Check this out. A Roswell Grey did a 'beam me up, Scotty' routine to abduct me in the middle of the night because my dog crapped on this guy's lawn. Talk about propinquity. Then 'Mulder' over there gives me the patriotic pep talk spiel to shut me up. But his partner in crime…yes, this is a crime…never doubt it…I was kidnapped…rats me out but makes me a bra, correcting the size mind you, while I'm standing on an alien space ship in my pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers?

But wait! That's not all! Included in the price is a tour of the galaxy and a trip to another world! But what a world! I'm standing with handsomest scariest man in the world! That world! My husband is the best looking guy on my world. This world who knew? I mean I'm running off at the mouth but wouldn't you? He handed me his business card? That's proof? No no no no no no no no no, THIS is NOT happening.

"Libby?" He put a hand on my shoulder. I startled, swatting it away.

"Sorry, I thought you were going to hit me."

"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you." He was getting exasperated. "Just answer my question. What did you learn?"

I backed away putting the DHD between us. It was pure panic. I couldn't out run him. I'm too old and too slow. Okay, I'm too fat, too. Happy now?

_Think girl!_

"I um, you see, I well, sorta, I guess, asked some questions."

"I see." He cocked his head waiting for more explanation.

"I, well, I wanted to know where I was, who you were, and the little grey guy too."

"Uh huh. And…"

"And, I asked more questions."

"I got that part. Skip ahead."

"Um, Jack, I got curious. It's my nature to ask questions. So I asked questions."

"You asked questions, lots and lots of questions. How much did you learn?"

"Some."

"Look, it's hot. I'm in no mood for this. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I need to know. Out with it."

"Define what not 'hurt' me means?"

"Oh for crying out loud, it means I won't hurt you."

"But you could make me disappear?"

"No, not if you play ball, there's no reason to do it."

"Okay, I guess," Taking a big breath, "You know, I saw this movie once where the guy got the information and then killed the woman, anyway."

"Libby, think it through. If I wanted to kill you to contain the leak, I would have done it already. I wouldn't be worried about what you learned."

"Oh." That made sense. I felt a little silly, maybe. "You could kill me then? I mean you have killed …people? I mean you're a soldier. Soldiers kill people." I had diarrhea of the mouth, just digging a deeper hole with each mouthful.

"I'm a military man. You figure it out."

"I'm a financial person. Numbers, I like numbers. Numbers tell stories if you know how to read them." Looking at him, I tried to imagine him killing someone. Oops, that was an image I could do without. I'd better do some fancy footwork. "Everyone thinks accountants are boring. But we see stories…in the numbers… that put soap operas to shame. For example, I knew every time a client went to visit his mistress because he stopped off at Victoria's secret first in Miami. He was from San Francisco on business there a little too frequently, if you catch my drift." I grinned. He didn't.

"Your point?"

"Did you know Thor keeps financial data for the IOA, DHS, SGC, and a few other related three-letter agencies that run things like, oh say…phhhhffffttttt….Atlantis… the Daedalus-class production line… off-world base construction allocations…you get the idea."

O'Neill blinked.

_Gotcha! He didn't know. He didn't think to ask!_

"I used to do waste fraud and abuse audits for this defense contractor client of my old firm."

I shook my head in disgust.

"You did?" He wiped his brow. "Did you find any?"

"What?"

"Waste, fraud, and abuse."

"Yes, plenty, but I'd had enough of the travel. My husband and I are very comfortably off so I could retire. Talk about waste. By the way, Atlantis is running 14 percent over budget year to date. Production costs on the ships are out of control. You should do something about it."

"We ran into a few snags. That's not the point. Ma'am, you …."

"The point is wasted taxpayer dollars are not giving our planetary defense the most bang for the bucks. If the IOA finds out how financially mismanaged this program is they will demand control over all operations."

I'll grant the man this much. He's intellectually honest. You could see the wheels turning. He was trying to figure out the best and worst case scenarios with the new information. He didn't just reject it. Hey maybe the guy wasn't the usual administrative wonk…only a financial idiot. Uh oh, the wheels were grinding to a halt up there in his head. C'mon pal, this is a real opportunity. Don't squander this one too. It's what usually happens when they realize the magnitude of the screw up. Then they go for cover up and the blame game.

"You know about the IOA?" He frowned. I nodded. "And you know what to do about it?"

"Not entirely, but I can put you in contact with the team that does it now at my old firm."

"Tell you what," he began slowly. His hands went into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels, still thinking. "You agree to sign the non-disclosure agreements. Stop giving me a pain in the ass; and I'll put you on my staff."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you don't rattle," he prevaricated. There had to be more.

"And?"

"You do have a point. There is waste going on. I took over the organization a few months ago. We are supposed to get controls in place, but we've only been in business a year. I need someone to advise me and give me options before the IOA lands on us. I want someone that has no connection to anyone else. You figured all that out in about three hours on an alien computer on an alien ship. I need someone like that."

'Uh huh, you 'need' someone like that. I got into the headcount. You already have an army of folks like that."

"Air Force."

"What?"

"I'm in the Air Force."

"What-EVER!" Geez what was he still trying to do?

"When we get home, you'll get a debriefing. We'll have to check you out first. But yeah, I could use you."

"So you are offering me a job?" I was incredulous. I just had a job offer while standing on an alien planet?

"Sure, why not? I'll have to get you clearance. You don't have a criminal background do you?"

"No, in fact I had a clearance a long time ago."

"You're not certifiably insane?"

"It's menopause, of course I'm insane."

We both laughed.

"Two items are a deal breaker."

"What's that?"

"I want to be Captain Kirk for a ride on the Daedalus. Number two, I play bridge the third Thursday of every month come hell or high water or the Replicators."

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. You can swing it. You're the Director of Homeworld Security."

"Yes, I am." He thought a moment. "Bridge, yes. Captain Kirk, no. But you can have a ride on the Daedalus. You'll have to take a look through operations on Atlantis among other places."

He grinned from ear to ear. What a smile that man has. I thought about it. He stuck out his hand. Cautiously, I took it. We shook to seal the deal.

Now if we could only get off this hell hole of a planet. I had to go catch my dog.


	3. Chapter 3: The Devil Doesn't Wear Prada

**Neighbors: The Devil Doesn't Wear Prada**

**Summary: **Jack O'Neill and his new neighbor, Libby continue their conversation while stranded on a planet. Will she make it on time to her bridge game? Will she find her dog? What will her husband say to her absence?

Rating: Older Teen for language and subject matter.

Category: Gen- Humor, POV Fluff

Season: 11+

Characters: Jack O'Neill, O/C, Team

Disclaimer: Stargate Characters are not mine, just playing with them for fun, not profit.

* * *

It's cooling off a little. I think. I have to sit down. This heat and stress just wears me out. I haven't slept in a couple of days. My adrenaline is hitting empty. No one will ever believe what happened to me tonight. It's that damned dog's fault, no treats in his bowl tonight. I'm fencing the yard eight feet high and screw the complaints from the neighbors. 

Speaking of neighbors, I'm staring at my neighbor, Major General Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force. They broke the mold when they made him. Yowzah! That man is gorgeous. He's tall, has a classic lantern jaw, deep set eyes, hands like a Greek god, and a smile that could light up the world. The world is this a stinking hot humid hellhole.

I'm sweating like a pig. Do pigs sweat? I wonder. No matter, I'm the pig who's sweating. First, I had hot flashes. Now, I'm sweating for real reasons, fear and oh phfffttt maybe the heat. Probably I'm doing it from a combination of fear, heat, humidity, ogling the bare-chested man in front of me, and raging hormones.

My hormones are so out of whack that it isn't funny. Menopause is a bitch. I'm a bitch on wheels sometimes. My mother and her friends used the euphemism, "The Change of Life." Sometimes I'd like to take someone's life. You know how little things irritate you? Well, every little thing is a big thing. The big things are monster-sized. The monster-sized things scare the Boogey Man. You don't come down until you wear yourself out. By then everyone around you either ran for cover or has called the insane asylum to come get you. You feel irritable to the power of 10. The heat makes it worse. Stress makes it worse. Dirty underwear on the living room floor and crumbs on the kitchen counter make it worse. No, those two make it the END OF THE WORLD!

People say, "oh, hormone replacement therapy should help." There's no free lunch. Everything has its price. If you take the HRT, then your breasts swell up like basketballs and they hurt. You aren't supposed to stay on them forever. So I quit after growing a two-inch breast tumor from them. Yeah, they have the warning in the fine print and I have the scar. My eyesight changed too. The doctor disagrees but I'm sure they are making me go deaf.

"What?"

Oh, I thought that man asked me something. Anyway, life without HRT sucks big time. I thought I turned into Forrest Gump when I stopped taking them. I definitely lost a few dozen IQ points on the Richter scale. And irritable… lord have mercy. Truth to tell, if I had killed someone I am sure a jury of only middle-aged women would have acquitted me. Therefore, the husband demands that I go back on them because it was shortening HIS life. He says he isn't going to live with a witch on a broomstick when a little pill could bring back his wife.

I tell him there's no divorce…only his murder.

He hasn't said a word about it since. He believes me. We've been married for 25 yrs as of last month. It must be love since I haven't killed him, yet. Well, right about now, the husband should be in the kitchen, wondering where the wife is and where the dog is. I think I'll tell him the truth. He won't believe it anyway. I'll say, "My Beloved, I was abducted by aliens. That's why the dog got loose and I didn't make the coffee."

"Hey, Jack, are you sure you are hitting _DIFFERENT _combinations? I mean you are keeping track aren't you, which ones you've done already?"

"Funny. You've got a sense of humor. There's hope for you."

"I would speed it up."

"I'm doing the best I can."

"No, I mean speed it up…NOW! Now as in, we got company."

Jack ducks down and pulls out a pistol from under his pant leg. Dang, I knew he was packing, but an ankle holster? There isn't any place to hide. We are in an open field with just the DHD and the Stargate. So I hunker down behind the DHD. No it doesn't cover my fat ass.

"Where did you see them?"

"Tree line straight ahead."

"You ever shoot one of these?"

"No, but I can shoot straight if I don't have to shoot far." He looks at me quizzically. "Trap shooting," I tell him. I don't tell him I've done it only twice.

He nods, puts a round in the chamber and flips off the safety. Handing it to me, he plucks out another weapon. The man has that S-shaped thing like the one Thor made on the ship.

"Here," he says, taking back the pistol and handing me the ray gun. "Just point and squeeze."

"Um, Jack?"

"What? I see them. They are trying to flank us."

"I have one of these."

"What?"

I set down the ray gun and reach into my bra. I hand him the ray gun Thor made. Ok, I stole it. It's a good thing. What a look he's giving me. Yes, it does fit in my bra. I told Thor I was a 38 DD not a 40 E, so I had the extra room. No one can see it especially under the bathrobe and the pajama top.

"We're so gonna talk about this later." He takes it. I pick up mine. "Okay, one shot stuns. Two shots kills. Three shots disintegrate." He waits for me to nod. "Stay down."

From out of the tree line, emerge what I can only describe as headhunters. They look humanoid. Their faces are painted. They wear feathered headdresses. One guy has a blow gun-looking thingy. Carrying spears with bows and arrows, they are nearly naked. Geez, in this heat I wish I were. Now I'm really hot flashing. I do not need this right now. That's it, off with the pajama top. I wipe my face with it. That's when I saw movement to my left.

"How far does this thing shoot?"

"Maybe 50-60 feet with any accuracy, why?"

"Bogies on left, 8 o'clock."

"Bogies? Where did you learn that?"

"I watch television." I get such an education from the boob tube, bad imagery… er the TV.

"Right. Just wait, they might not be hostiles."

"I don't care. I want to go home. I had enough."

"Steady there Annie Oakley." He is counting them, too.

"You mean don't shoot until I see the whites of their eyes?"

"Don't shoot until I say so." He intently aims at the one in the forefront.

I don't know when the shooting starts. It's all a blur. I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze that thing as fast as I can. Who's kidding who? I can't hit the broadside of a barn. I am hoping I hit something, anything. It's over. Some are dead. Some are wounded. The rest run off. I don't think I hit anyone. We didn't stick around to check. The second attempt dialing the DHD afterwards, Jack does get the thing to work. He grabs my arm and yanks me after him. We head right into the water.

_Smack!_

I stumble, hitting the stone steps past the water.

"Ow!" There's a bunch of soldiers pointing big rifles at me. I take one look at them and start screaming. I'm still clutching the ray gun.

"Drop your weapon, NOW!"

"Hold your fire!" Jack shouts.

"General?"

"Griff." Jack is between me and them. "Let me handle this." He takes the ray gun away from me. I'm a basket case at this point.

"All clear," the man calls to the others. "Who's the alien?"

"That's no alien. That's my neighbor."

You can knock those guys over with a feather. They stare. Maybe it's my couture, the latest from Paris? Like they've never seen a fat woman in a brassiere and striped pajamas with pink fuzzy slippers? Yeah, right, it's Prada, straight from the runway. Get over it. The men's eyes zoom in right to the breasts. Geez, don't they still put saltpeter in the coffee?

"Yes, sir. Welcome, ma'am."

I have to say, Jack can be very kind. He's a general, yet he's staying close by until I come to my senses. He has a no nonsense attitude but he understands. I'm not used to this.

"C'mon, we have to get checked out in the Infirmary."

He holds his hand out to help me up. I take it. I need the human contact. I see and don't see what's around me. All I know is it seems familiar. There's lots of concrete and guys walking around in camouflage. They sure get out of Jack's way in a hurry. It's a short walk. I look around the room. The equipment in the room seems to be normal medical equipment. It's quiet and orderly. A doctor walks up in a white lab coat over camouflage. Then I notice the boots, the shiny black boots. They are all wearing boots. I look down at my pink fuzzy slippers. I don't fit in.

"Sir," the Doctor looks me over with a question in his eyes, waiting for Jack to explain.

"Doctor Warren, this is my neighbor, Libby. Thor accidentally you know." He looks up. The Doctor grunts in understanding. "She's handled this very well. You did good, Libby."

All I can do is nod. Then it occurs to me that I have to pee or I'll die.

"Bathroom?"

"Sure, leave a sample," instructs the nice doctor. "You know how to do that?"

"Yes."

Meekly, I follow the nurse, leaving them in discussion. Once I'm in the bathroom it all hits me. I start to shake. The hell with it, I just pee and sit there on the cool porcelain in the cool bathroom. I can't stop crying and shaking. Sobs rack me. I nearly got killed out there!

I cry because my terror is over. I cry for my lost innocence. I cry because I have no control over my fate. I cry because there's no more adrenaline to carry me any more. I can let go because I'm safe. I'm safe in a concrete bathroom with nice white porcelain fixtures and cool running water. Familiar things are here. I cry even more. I reach over to turn on the sink faucet. I watch the water run, pouring uselessly down the drain. It's comforting. Don't ask me why.

My legs are like rubber Gumby legs. I try to stand only to flop back down on the seat. I lean my head against the cool concrete wall and cry, deep wracking sobs. The toilet paper makes good tissue for blowing my nose. I'm all stuffed up from crying and I can't stop. I get the hiccups. So I force myself to stand leaning on the sink to drink water. Ten swallows without breathing make me realize how thirsty I am. I drink and drink and burp and drink.

In frustration, I take off my pajama bottoms and the bra. The top is long gone. Using the liquid soap from the dispenser and the paper towels, I wash down, sitting on the toilet. I can't seem to stand. Then I do it again. I drink and drink until I can't hold anymore.

Then I throw up.

I guess someone heard all that. The banging on the locked door becomes more persistent. I can't find my voice. I've cried and sobbed myself hoarse. Besides, I realize I'm sitting naked in a concrete bathroom with throw up in the toilet, on the wall, on the floor, and some in my hair. There's still water all over the floor. I have to clean it up before someone sees all the water on the floor. Desperately, I pull out paper towels to sop it all up while the banging becomes more demanding. Loud voices, I hear loud voices shouting to me. I try to mop that water up but I land on my ass on the concrete floor. Still I try to wipe the floor and try to soak up all the throw up and the mess. The paper towels are all gone and the trash can is full.

I can't stop crying.

The door bursts open to find me sitting on the floor, crying, naked, and wet.

* * *

Drifting slowly awake, I realize I'm in a hospital bed. Lazily I wonder how long I've been out. Then I see the IV drip and look at my hand with the drip going in. Yes, been there done that before. They've got me drugged. I don't care. The world is floating. 

Good meds!

I'll be constipated for a week after these. The Doctor leans over to check my eyes with a pen light. Geez it's bright. Wonder what he sees in there.

"Good, you're awake." He checks the chart. "Feeling better?"

I nod still not sure I can speak. Clearing my throat a few times, I realize the floating sensation is passing.

"Y—ahem, Yes, I am."

"Good, you went into shock. We didn't want to take any chances considering what happened." He pauses to wait for me to concentrate. "One of the natives shot you. It's some kind of poison that causes paralysis. But you got the antidote in time."

"Really?"

"A scratch, that's all, it's over. You'll be fine." He is holding up a small feathered arrow. "The metal in the bra's underwire didn't let it penetrate far. Just a scratch, you were lucky it was such a small amount."

"Jack?"

"He's fine, no scratches."

"How long? Um, how long have I been sleeping?"

"All day, it's," he checks his watch, "six o'clock in Washington, now."

"Oh no! My husband…"He'll be frantic."

"We had someone contact him to let him know you are fine and will be delayed. General O'Neill took care of it. Don't worry."

"My dog is loose. He's epileptic and he doesn't understand about cars…"

"I'm sorry I don't know about any dog."

If I could have cried I would have, but I am all dried out from whatever they shot me up with. I've had several major operations, so I knew what was happening from the drugs.

"When can I go home?"

"Not for another couple of days," he replied. "We have to be sure there are no complications."

At that moment, Jack walked in. I remembered I had taken off my clothes to wash, am I naked? Phew, I am in a hospital gown. He chucked his head at the doctor to say 'get lost.'

"So, Libby, you gave us quite a scare."

"I did? Well, I'm always available for Halloween. You should see my costume. Scared the crap out of a four-year old last year when I opened the door." I try to wet my parched lips. "Scarred the kid for life, she'll never eat candy again."

"I looooove Halloween," he rumbles in a low voice. Jack looks uncomfortable. I don't care. The meds are still doing their stuff. "I just want you to know that I contacted your husband. The cover story is that you witnessed some terrorists try to break into my house last night. For the rest of today and tomorrow, you are working with our investigators. As a matter of National Security, we can't disclose where you are, however you will be home in a couple of days."

"He bought that?"

"Seemed okay with it, but he wants to talk to you."

"Phone?"

"Um, we aren't on Earth, yet."

"Alpha Site or Gamma Site?"

"Uh, Alpha."

"Hmmm, better medical center."

"You did a thorough job on those computers."

"Sodium pentothal?"

"No, you were so high you told us lots of things on your own." He cracked a grin. "Sorority girls like to talk. Mostly you were telling jokes." He smirked, "You grossed out one of the doctors and that's saying something."

"Always good for a laugh," I grin and try to wet my lips. "Water?"

"Sure," he takes a chair to sit down besides me. Carefully he brings the cup and straw up for me. That water feels good. "Easy, not so fast."

He refills the cup. I keep wondering why he's doing this. It's nice. I like it, but, isn't he a general? I mean he has all sorts of folks to do this for him. I would expect him to have gone wherever he was scheduled to go. Did that make sense? Good, I get the cup again. My arms are like lead. I wonder if I complain I could get some more of those floating meds. I like those.

"Oh, by the way, Jack sets down the cup and picks up something from the stand. "What were you thinking?"

Uh oh, they found the funny rocks from Thor's console. What can I say? I took some and stuffed them in my pajama pocket. I was going to bean someone over the head. The meds are so good I start grinning. This is probably serious, hey what isn't around here, but I find it hilarious. It's proof all this really did happen. Let's face it, no dream I ever had was this good. I mean have you ever had a dream where you not only fight aliens and fly around on a space ship, but you steal stuff and have a handsome Air Force General nurse you with a cup of water?

Good meds. Good meds!!!!

"Um, Libby? The answer?"

"Sling shot," I crack up. Twirling my hand, I say, "In the bra…boink!"

I crack up some more. He starts grinning. Gosh, what a smile that guy has. We are both laughing when the staff comes back to see what's so funny. I hit my palm to my forehead bubbling out…

"David and Goliath…boink…boink…boink!!!!"

"I like your attitude, Libby, you go girl."

I can't stop laughing. It's infectious. He's laughing, too.


	4. Chapter 4: A Modern Major General

**Neighbors 4: A Modern Major General**

**Summary**: Jack is a modern Major General. Jack and Libby find their way home. But where's the dog?

**Category**: Gen Humor Fluff

**Rating:** Teen for language and sexual references however vague

**Characters**: Jack O'Neill, Hank Landry, Dr. Warren, O/C

**Season**: 10+

**Author's Note**: I don't care that Libby is unabashedly my avatar/Mary Sue. This is for fun and humor.

**Disclaimer:** "Stargate SG-1/Atlantis" and its characters are the property of Sony Pictures, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Film Corp., Showtime/Viacom and USA Networks, Inc. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and story are the property of the author(s), and may not be republished or archived elsewhere without the author's permission.

* * *

"I don't feel so good. I don't think I can keep it down." I just woke up and now this. "Maybe it's space sickness, like motion sickness?"

"You're on a planet," Jack says crossing his arms. "No movement, well except normal rotation."

"Did you have to say 'rotation'?"

"Anti-nausea coming at you, hold on," the nice Doctor Warren says calmly.

I feel it burn as the cold liquid comes into my veins from the IV drip. Can't they ever warm that stuff up? I once had a pap exam where the gynecologist had cold tools. I nearly kicked him in the head as I reacted to ice-cold instruments against my warm insides. Sonofabitch with that many years in practice he had to know those things were cold. He didn't apologize and I'm just sorry I missed landing a foot in his face. He had good reflexes, so it must happen often. I prefer women doctors for most things like that now.

"Better?"

I catch my breath as a wave of pain from my extremities catches me by surprise. He injects something else in the drip tube. I wince and make a face.

"Can't you men ever warm that stuff up before it goes in?" I slur.

"You are still having some muscle spasms. Demerol cocktail, it works fast."

"Me likey Demerol."

I start singing off key and slurring at Jack:

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General_

_I've information vegetable, animal__, and mineral_

_I know the kings of England__, and I quote the fights historical_

_From Marathon__ to Waterloo__, in order categorical;_

"Deep Space Homer," he grins and leaves, reciting from the Simpsons, _"__There once was a man from Nantucket, Whose --"_

* * *

I guess I slept for a while. It feels like forever. Jack showed up again. It's nice but I wonder why. Doesn't he have something better to do? He hands me ice water that feels good on my scratchy throat. The nice Dr. Warren smiles. Then I notice it. There are sirens going off and a PA systems barking something about unscheduled off world activation?

"Where am I?"

"The SGC Infirmary," Jack answers. "We moved you back to Earth."

"You should be able to go home this evening." Dr. Warren checks the chart.

"That soon? I'm sure my insurance will cover this."

I've been down this road before. Hospitals want you up and out as fast as they can turn the bed space. You'd think they run a restaurant and table turnover is required. Not this time.

"Don't worry about it," Jack reassures me. "The Air Force is taking care of it."

"We'll follow up with you in Washington at Walter Reed," Dr. Warren informs me.

"Walter Reed, no way, I read the Washington Post. The government should be ashamed of itself. Just let me go to my regular people. Walter Reed is a disgrace."

Dr. Warren sighs that sigh a doctor sighs when a patient is not looking at him like a god. Well I know for a fact all doctors have clay feet.

"Well don't hold back, just tell me what you really think." He snaps the chart shut and makes for the door. "We'll keep you here another day."

"Fine," I fuss at him. "Jack, I want to call my husband, please?"

"Okay, Neighbor, but watch what you say." Jack pats my shoulder and leaves with some urgency. I wonder where he's going. I wonder why he was here.

Humph, Walter Reed indeed, when pigs fly.

I wonder where they keep the Demerol.

* * *

The good-looking Air Force major is listening to the sweet nothings I'm saying. He's trying not to blush. I'm going for the gold. If he's going to listen in on my first conversation with my husband in two days and three planets, he can suffer. I'm making this as mushy and as… X-Rated…as I possibly can. Ack the major just crossed his legs. Heh heh heh, this just eggs me on. I give great phone sex to the hubby when I know someone is in his office.

"Yes, you _**ARE**_ my boy toy," I purr into the phone. With delicious satisfaction I add, "sure we can play alien abduction." My husband has no idea what I mean. I just said that to goad the major over there. "Yes, you'll have to put out. I want you naked and ready with your ray gun handy."

The major squirms.

"I _**AM**_ your muse." I shoot a glance at the major. "Be ready to receive some …inspiration."

The major re-crosses his legs.

_Gotcha!_

"Did the dog get back ok?"

"No?"

The whole…incident must have scared the poor thing enough to make him run away.

"Did you try the pound? Uh huh? Okay, I should be home in another day. Yes, I'm fine."

"He's a nice guy." I listen. "Really, he's a very nice man. You'll like him. I don't mind. Actually, it's been very interesting…over the top, out of this world interesting."

The major shoots me a frown. I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Um, my beloved, they offered me a job."

"I'm not joking."

"I don't know how much."

"I don't care how much."

"Yes, I'm serious."

"Um, you might want send my suits to the cleaners."

"I love you too my handsome hugga muffin." Into the phone I add loud sucking kissy sounds.

_Schmooch Schmooch Schmooch_.

I hang up and leer at the major.

* * *

"So, Jack," Major General Hank Landry, CO of Stargate Command said to his friend, "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Thor made a mistake. She was out picking up after her dog and saw me go. Thor took her, too." Jack shrugged and frowned. "Then she pissed him off. So he threw us off the ship."

"Uh huh, and how did she manage that?"

Jack squirmed a little. "Thor has a girl computer. Something about women's lib."

Landry had that look that says 'no kidding.'

"I don't think I want to know. So what are you going to do with her?"

"I'm going to hire her."

"For what?"

"She's my secret weapon."

"How so?"

"She discovered that Thor keeps records of all our financial data. She managed to access it. She even made sense of it. I'm going to send her to do it again."

"But you said Thor is angry with her."

"Oh, you know," Jack raised an eyebrow. "For me."

"He dumped you off on a hostile planet, Jack."

"I've been to worse."

"Ambitious," Landry considered it. "You do an end run around the IOA before they get their proposal worked out. I like it."

"Modern warfare. No one can know exactly what she does except you, the SG team leader that you assign to her, and me." Jack tapped the desk. "Her reports go to me and to me only."

"It should make good reading."

"I'll copy you and the Joint Chiefs, after I've read them to keep a lid on this."

"Why the cloak and dagger?"

"Presidential order, Hank," Jack frowned. "The IOA is not the only interested party, legal or not. The fewer who know what she's doing the safer she is."

"You smell a rat."

"Yes, well, I've developed this heightened sense of smell."

* * *

"Hi Jack!"

There he is, my hero, loping into the VIP room they gave me on the base. He's taking me home. I've improved enough that I don't need to be in the Infirmary 24/7. It was a rough patch. My muscles ache where I had spasms. I never knew I had these muscles. You know _**those**_muscles, the ones that show up after a lifetime's absence to remind you how you have lost all that muscle tone; to remind you how far you have fallen from your glorious youth; and to make certain you know you are getting _**OLD**_.

"Hey Neighbor," Jack says casually and shuts the door with a look for permission. "Good news, I have your paperwork started. Ready to go home?"

"Yes, it's been fun, but," I shrug. "About the job, when would I start?"

"Oh, in about two weeks," he says shoving his hands in his pockets. "Two weeks enough?"

"Sure," I'm thinking about a new wardrobe. Two weeks is a short time to get all that done and things altered.

"What do I wear in outer space? Heels or flats?"

He looks at me as if I have two heads. This is a serious issue. He seems mildly amused.

"I don't need a wardrobe malfunction. Where do I obtain some magnetic inserts to put on my shoes so I don't go floating off?"

He is still regarding me oddly.

"I don't even know what's fashionable out there."

He rubs the hairs on the nape of his neck. Uh oh, he's going to the 'I'm the general' routine. What? He's grinning? I love that smile. I think I'll work at making that happen all the time. Wow, what a great face he has all lit up that way!

"Um, you will be going to the Pentagon in the beginning." He gets all serious. "I don't want you to talk about what I've hired you to do with _ANYONE_ except," he holds up three fingers and starts folding them down, "One, General Landry, who is the SGC commander, Two, my aide, Major Paul Davis, whom you embarrassed this morning." Jack frowns. "He was insulted. I asked him to monitor the call." Jack really is irritated.

"Um, sorry, I knew he had to be around, but I didn't think he had to listen to everything."

"From now on, everything that happens around you is ordered by me personally. You have a problem with that?"

"No, Jack. Sorry."

He glares to make sure the point is made. I hang my head to show I got it.

"Who's the third person, number three?"

"The team leader, who will be assigned to protect you when you go off world," Jack made sure I nodded. "All joking aside, the President has no intention of letting the IOA embarrass us, which is why he's agreed to expedite your clearance."

"The President… of the United States?"

"Henry Hayes, yes, ma'am," Jack says in all seriousness. "So don't disappoint him."

"No of course not," I am thinking I bit off more than I can chew. I've been out of the game three years.

"Do I have to move here?"

"No, but there's lots of travel between here and a few other places."

I chewed my bottom lip. It's a bad habit. He noticed.

"What?"

"Jack, how dangerous is this?"

"I won't kid you. It can get dangerous."

"Jack?"

"What?"

"I'm not a soldier."

"I know."

"I didn't enjoy that incident."

"Good, if you had I wouldn't want you."

I sighed with relief. "Um, one more thing," I wanted this job and I was beginning not to want it. "What happens if I don't want to do it after I get deep into it? I mean, what if there is some bad incident and I realize I can't deal with it?"

"Then you stop." He looked at me kindly. "If you think you can't do this, I won't force you."

"Thanks, I needed to know that."

"C'mon, let's go." He ushered me out. My what nice hands he has.

* * *

Did I mention I hate airports?

With all the security after 9/11, I really hate airports. Look, I don't mind being searched. I do mind taking off my shoes. That's just nasty. At first, there was no carpet so my nylons hit the cold linoleum. We are talking about cold linoleum that ten thousand nasty feet have touched. I'm visualizing athlete's foot, random toe jam, and …leprosy.

No I'm not over doing it. Okay it could happen. How would anyone know until we all got a dose? What about that flesh eating bacteria? All sorts of evil scenarios flash past me. I guess someone thought the same thing because now they have little paper booties. Don't get me started on the issue of the little paper booties they sometimes have at some airports. My foot manages to hit the nasty carpet every time before I get the elastic paper booty on.

So now they have carpet but that's not really an improvement. I mean all the little germs get stuck in the carpet. I complain every time, asking when was the last time someone shampooed and DISINFECTED the carpet. I tempt fate by loudly complaining about all the nasty germs.

And every time they divert me to be searched because the underwire of my bra sets off the wand. They act so suspicious about the underwire. D'oh, of course, I wear an underwire in the bra! Have you seen the size of my girls? Thor has…he made a 40E _underwire__ bra!_

Do you know one time the incompetent, no good, brain-dead, can't-get-a-real-job, rent-a-cops once searched the cast on my broken leg and got upset when I couldn't take it off? I was doing ok until my complaints got me rousted into a real chair while they searched my wheelchair. Three of them were searching this middle-aged broken legged woman's wheelchair, giving me grief over the cast while all sorts of real no-goodniks slithered past. I nearly missed my flight.

At least this time, no one bothered me because I was with a real Modern Major General. Every time I look at Jack, I hum from the _Pirates of Penzance. _I have a tune theory. When you can't get rid of a tune rolling around in your head, sing it until someone else starts singing it. Then you lose it and they get it. In line to get off the plane, I worked my theory by singing sotto voce hopelessly off key from Gilbert and Sullivan:

_For my military__ knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,_

_Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century_

_But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General._

Hasn't worked yet.

"_But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General._"

One more time,

"_But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General._"

Uh oh, Jack caught it.

"_In fact, when I know what is meant by "mamelon__" and "ravelin__",_

_When I can tell at sight a Mauser rifle__ from a javelin_

_When such affairs as sorties__ and surprises I'm more wary at,_

_And when I know precisely what is meant by "commissariat__",_

_When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery_

_When I know more of tactics__ than a novice__ in a nunnery__—_

…_But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General._"

_The man knows opera?_

"You're humming?"

"Am not."

"Are too."

"I don't hum."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"This is hum-worthy." I spy my man. "There's my husband!"

He's standing at the airport checkpoint, waiting for me. I have a lot of explaining to do. I can't lie to him. I can't tell him either. He looks like he's been worried. In some sense, that's reassuring. If he cares, then all is right with the world. All is not right with the world, not by a long shot. After what I learned these past few days, none of the everyday nonsense is important at all anymore. I'll never look at the world the same way.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, and you?" He nods. I make the introductions. "This is Major General Jack O'Neill, our new next door neighbor. Jack this is my husband, Phil, the rocket scientist. No really, he is a rocket scientist."

Ever watch two men shake hands? It's a real ritual. They eye each other. Then it's a contest which man offers the hand first. The hand clasp issue I've never figured out.

"Need a lift?" My husband offers. Jack already said he'd go to the Pentagon.

"Thanks, no I have a meeting but I'll be by tomorrow."

We separate. Hubby puts his arm around me and declares his territory. Really, it's so primitive and so … satisfying… that he still would.

"Can't find the dog. I'm sorry."

I promise myself that if we find him, he gets one of those locator chips.

"Did I send you the right outfit?"

"Thanks, it's perfect. Thanks," I hug him tightly.

On my request, Major Davis asked him to have some clothes ready for pickup. The phrase, 'your mother wears army boots' kept repeating in my brain while I was wearing G.I. BDUs on the base. Hey, they beat the hospital gown with the slit all the way up the back! I used hospital sock-slippers until my own shoes arrived. The pink fuzzy slippers can never be decontaminated or cleaned for that matter.

My husband and I take the elevator to the garage. I have no luggage so we go to the car directly. Like two teenagers, we hold hands and act ridiculous, not caring who sees. I'm 24 yrs old again and he's still a grad student looking hot. Once we get in the car, the familiar seems out of place. The car is the usual mess; papers, apple stems, sunglasses, and every other piece of nonsense cluttering up the space. I cherish each ounce of dirt on the floor mats.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah, starving."

As we drive home, I realize he isn't going home. We drive for quite a while out into the country. I mean we drive a long while. When we pass the exit for the crab shack with my favorite fried pickles, I have to protest. I want those pickles more than life itself.

"Fried pickles," I ask plaintively?

"No."

I pout. That place has the best fried pickles in the universe. And now I know it for a fact. Suddenly I have that craving for salt, sugar, and grease. You know that craving. It's the one that precedes the binge eating at 11 pm when the news comes on. If I don't get those fried pickles I will have to mainline some chocolate.

"Chocolate?"

He's coming up to the turn off for _Harry and David_ at the Mall. They have some seriously addictive gourmet treats plus lots and lots of great chocolates in there. _Harry and David_ is a one-stop shop for all your high quality cholesterol in fancy packages with some pears in the cold storage to salve the conscience. I love the cheese, smoked meats, candy, cheesecake, the works. I adore the packaging. I'm not sure which is better, opening the boxes and wrappings or actually eating the stuff. It's a combination of anticipation and greed.

I never said I would share.

He's on a mission. I know that look. So I use the one tactic that I know will make him stop.

"I have to pee. Mall."

I point to the exit. He knows the consequences for not crossing four lanes of traffic after 26 years of travels together. He gets an earful until the next exit, which can be many long miles.

"No, Mall, gas station."

He's on to me. Dang. After what I've been through, I _**deserve**_ a stop at the Mall. Remember I said he was smart, a real rocket scientist. No I'm not kidding. True to his word, I get the gas station. Once back at the car, I lay down the law.

"Fried pickles or chocolates."

I get that husband look. You know the one. He knows he can't win and he resents it. So he stomps off toward the empty cornfield behind the gas station. I get to the edge, but he's already in there.

"I am not going to ruin these shoes," I call out. He's still walking. "Do you have any idea how much Ferragamos cost?"

He turns around furious, helpless, upset, and starts yelling at me, "Shoes in the trunk!"

I hear the beep of the trunk and the lid unlatching from the remote. Aw crap. He's right. I put on the running shoes and go out there.

"I had quite a visit from Security." He stares out into the cornfield behind the gas station. "I mean my company's security people, not just the Air Force." It's almost an accusation. "What I want to know is; are you really ok and how dangerous is this going to get?"

I had my briefings, about how to answer these questions. Ok, I'll try to stick to the script.

"I had a medical problem. I have to follow up with their doctors."

"They told me if you get sick, feverish to call a number. They're afraid you might talk in a delirium. What do they mean a delirium?"

"Precaution, I'm ok now."

"I know you aren't. I can tell by the way you are holding yourself and by how you are walking."

"It will pass."

"I don't like it." He kicks some dead cornstalks. "Should we move?"

"No."

"I will move, get another job, if you think this is too much."

I'm surprised he was this frightened. I got angry at the security people. What the hell did they say to him?

"Tell me what they said to you."

He described several briefings. Wow, this was over the top.

"I think you should talk to Jack."

"Why?"

"He's a straight shooter. I think we are safer next door than any place else."

He is thinking it through. The man does not need every dot connected. He doesn't like the implications. He doesn't like any of this. If Security came pounding on him, he knows what is at stake even if he doesn't know exactly why.

"What?" I know something is really upsetting him, something else.

"My mother."

I shrug my question.

"She's too big a security risk to stay abroad. She has to come home. It's not an option."

"OH NO WAY! I WILL NOT LIVE WITH THAT WOMAN!"

I explode, flapping my arms and screaming. I'm on edge after the past few days. But this is _too much_. That old harridan came for a visit from overseas once for six months. ONCE. She was lucky to make it out alive.

"If I lay eyes on her again, I'm not responsible!"

I burst into tears. Even fried pickles can't cure this.

Thor, you are on my shit list now.

* * *

Jack is a man of his word.

That he is. He promised to help me find my dog; bless his heart. That's a Southern expression. We have many of those. But this one let's you say anything about anyone as long as you utter those magic words… bless his/her heart and smile like an angel. Here's an example from one of my church ladies talking about her hefty sister-in-law.

'Poor thing has a weight problem. She could do something about it if she didn't tilt the refrigerator forward and unhinge her jaw, bless her heart.'

I think Jack is having an adjustment problem to living in the South. The Pentagon is on the Virginia side of the Potomac River across from the Lincoln Memorial. Virginia is the south; never doubt it. Although these days, they say the South begins below the Rappahannock River around Fredericksburg. Northern Virginia is almost a separate state but not always a separate state of mind. My point is Jack may know all about how to do things on another planet but he has no clue how to do things in the South. Bless his heart.

First of all, I tried to tell him to be careful what he might touch down there in the woods. He's a man. You can't tell them anything. I said don't touch the hairy vines climbing the trees. Sure enough, he slips on the muddy slope in the woods behind our houses thinking the dog might be lying dead back there. Reaching out for support, he grabs for a tree trunk and gets one of those hairy vines. Anyone from around here would have said, 'Fall down…slide baby! Don't' touch that hairy vine!" Too late, he grabs it with both fists before I can screech, 'nooooooo!' Then he starts to wipe the sweat off his face but my eight-octave holler stops him cold.

"Jack, don't move!"

"What?"

Don't move! Don't touch anything! Sit!"

"What?"

"Poison ivy, you just grabbed the hairy beast!"

"What?"

"POISON IVY!"

"Where?"

"IN YOUR HANDS!"

You would have thought he grabbed a snake. Actually, he slipped and sat on one. That black snake died an instantaneous death when Jack snapped his neck. I never saw a man with so much hatred for a poor old black snake. They aren't poisonous and eat rodents.

"I'm getting the soap and water. Stay put, I'll bring the cortisone and Benadryl."

"Aw crap!"

I go inside for the cure. Poor man, he'll be wishing he had listened instead of being a man. Men, they all know better than we poor feeble-minded females do. Serves them right. They say, 'don't tell me what to do.' Then they grab a fistful of poison ivy. Then they say, 'why didn't you tell me?' This is why they really get married. They know they are dead men without us.

By the time I get back to the yard with the first aid, he is up the slope and on my back deck. If he thinks he looks pitiful now, wait another ten minutes. I give him the bucket and the soap. He takes off his shirt because the sleeve swiped the vine. Phew! It's 45 degrees outside in October and I'm sweating from another hot flash. He's that gorgeous. I use gloves to take the shirt to the trash bin. They say you can wash it out. Bull. All you do is contaminate all the other clothes in the next load with the oils from the poison ivy.

"Now, Jack, hold out your hands."

He complies more meekly. See what it takes to make them follow directions? I pour hot soapy water on his hands. He lathers as I lecture.

"Now Neighbor, listen closely. The leaves will be falling in another few weeks. Some people burn leaves even though it's illegal. Let the county take the bags of leaves away. And whatever you do," I make him meet my eye. In my best mother-knows-best voice I intone, "do not ever burn poison ivy leaves or the vine. Do you know why?"

"No, ma'am."

"Because, you can blind someone if the smoke gets in their eyes. That stuff is potent. That's why burning the leaves is illegal."

"I got it."

"Yes, you do, all over, bless your heart."

I dabbed some cortisone on his face, under his eyes, and along his cheek. Naturally, he couldn't resist wiping his face before I got the first aid. He was blistering already. I could fuss over him all day, especially with him shirtless.

"So Jack, no poison ivy on other planets?"

"You know I never asked."

"Nice evasive answer, I'll have to practice that."

I dab another spot on his lovely upturned face just as the neighborhood MOUTH arrives. And what does she bring? The dog. And what does she see? A half-naked strange man on my deck, staring into my eyes. The neighbors are going to have a field day. She takes my startled reaction as guilt. Her mouth drops open. Okay it's always open. She can flap her gums 24/7 and not take a breath, bless her heart.

_(See how well that works?)_

"Hi Gertrude."

"Libby? You want to introduce me?" She looks over at Jack.

_Not really, oh well. He might as well take the good and the bad with the ugly._

"Gertrude Kleinschmidt, Jack O'Neill. Trudy is one of the neighbors."

"Ma'am."

"Oh, how do you know each other?"

She rakes him with her eyes, then turns accusingly to me. I laugh to myself, flashing on what she would do with the alien head hunters after her. Hmmm, there's a thought.

"Jack moved in next door." I chuck my head towards his house. "he got poison ivy looking for the dog."

_Which you apparently had._

It takes a moment for her lights to go on. Trudy never got married, not for lack of chasing men. Usually they run like hell. But she is already on a tear. When Trudy is on a tear, there is no stopping her. She fancies herself a dog expert. Lord have mercy, she knows as much about dogs as Thor does. At least Thor can ask Brunehilde, but then like any man he'd have to admit he didn't know something.

This woman thinks she was born with the knowledge.

"Yes, well I found The Beastie. Didn't I sweet thing?" She says that to the dog. I hate baby talk to dogs. Even the dog feels stupid hearing it. "Did you even know he was missing? I found him three days ago!

_No, Jack got poison ivy because I wasn't looking for the dog, but then you never listen to anyone. You just talk. One time I put down the phone, went to the basement, put up a load of laundry, went to the bathroom, washed my hair, threw out the trash, had an Instant Message conversation with someone else, put you on hold for call waiting, had that conversation, and you never knew I had been gone for thirty-five minutes. I didn't miss a thing._

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. I was almost ready to keep him," she adds with that Southern drawl of hers.

I'd like to smack her upside the head for making us worry.

"Why Trudy, if you love The Beastie that much, you are welcome to him."

She's fussing. She doesn't want my hundred pound dog. I wonder how many things he broke or how much dog hair got on her sofa before she decided to bring him around. Or maybe he ate her mail. He attacks the mail coming through the door slot. Or maybe she couldn't push him out of her bed. We call him the immovable object for a reason.

"Well I want you to reimburse me for the expense of caring for him."

Practically drooling over Jack, she hands over the leash and the bill. She sidles over to him to check his poison ivy. She doesn't care about his poison ivy. Today, she's a poison ivy expert giving the poor man an earful. I look at her itemized list. Among the items is a dog water purifier for $75 from the local mega-pet store.

"Dog water purifier?"

Trudy is insane. Menopause does not explain Trudy. She launches into the whys and wherefores of the health benefits to the dog.

"Trudy, he ate a turd on Sunday. He sniffs butt with every dog he meets. Then he sits down to lick his own. Monday, he rolled in deer shit in the woods. What are you talking about?"

She launches full bore into a rant. Jack is trying not to laugh. He keeps a straight face but the eyes say it all. While she tries to impress him with all her dog knowledge, he makes friends with the dog, who eats up all the attention. Jack is a dog magnet. Okay, he's a chick magnet too.

"Trudy, clean water to The Beastie means we flush twice."

"That's disgusting. It's why he runs away."

"Did you call us to say you had him? No." I hand back the list. She doesn't take it, so I set it down on the garden table. "Phil is out running around the neighborhood posting even _**more**_ signs. Maybe you read one?"

"I just wanted to see how long it would take you to realize he was missing. Well, three days sure answers that question."

_The woman hears nothing but the sound of her own voice._

She pretends to laugh that fake laugh of hers. She has no idea how badly she is blowing it in front of the new single neighbor man. I hand Jack the Benadryl and a paper cup of water. He drinks it and tosses it in the garbage bag I hold out. I'm throwing out anything he touches today. I'm not getting poison ivy, too. Although, I am tempted to let Trudy…no that's mean.

"Trudy, maybe you should take up dog sitting. You are so good at it."

"I should be going." Jack finishes smearing cortisone on his face, hands, and arms. They are blistering smartly.

"Thanks for trying, Jack. Take the tube. No really take it."

_I'm not touching it again._

"Sure thing." Jack nodded at her, "ma'am." I watch him escape over to his house. Lucky man, he ducked that bullet marked Trudy. I don't want to tell him she has him in her sights.

"Is he married?"

"Thanks for bringing back the dog…finally." I call the dog, walk inside, and shut the door.

She is _still_ talking.

And I'm back to humming:

_Then I can write a washing bill in Babylonic cuneiform_

_And tell you ev'ry detail of Caractacus__' uniform:_

_In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,_

_I am the very model of a modern Major-General._


	5. Chapter 5: No Soap, Radio

**No Soap, Radio**

You want to know how this happened? How should I know?

So this all started this afternoon when, Jack came over to the house to shoot the breeze and be neighborly. Mostly I think he wanted to check up on me, seeing as how I just got shot with a poison blow gun by alien head hunters. I repeat that every so often, alien head hunters. Say that three times. The surreal quality lights up my life. Where I used to see boring every day situations, now I see hilarious comedy.

A man of his word, Jack promised me a BBQ and tried to grill some steak. I know he offered but he's a single man. Ok the truth is I saw him char a piece of meat so badly even my dog wouldn't eat it. He doused the flames with beer. That just smells awful. So we came back to my house, where I've pulled some steaks out of the freezer and stuffed them into the microwave to defrost. He brought the salad over. I'm pulling the rest together.

See BBQing is _MAN's _work. That's right. The woman shops for it all, prepares the food, marinates the meat, sets the table, cleans up before the guests arrive, plays hostess, BUT, the man grills the meat. Then everyone thanks _HIM_ for cooking the meal.

What am I chopped liver?

Women need compliments. Women want to be appreciated. We want to be told we look good, smell good, and are a great lay. Women need food, water, and compliments…oh and the occasional pair of nice shoes, Ferragamos size 9B over here.

Men need danger. BBQing brings men together like moths to a flame. Flames, think about it. It's exciting as all heck. Will the thing blow up? Will the flames shoot out starting a grease fire that burns down the house? Anyone can get a third degree burn from the flames shooting up and singeing someone's hair. Add some booze, wind, and some lighter fluid. What could happen? So long as there's a chance someone can go to the hospital, they're good to go. It's a recipe for disaster.

Jack and Phil do that dance men do to bond over the grill. Jack says, 'turn the meat.' Phil waves the tongs and pokes at it to establish who the boss is over the meat. Men have to be right, so Jack says, 'turn the meat because it keeps cooking after you take it off.' Which only means the man who OWNS the BBQ pokes the meat again and lets it cook some more. That is the reason your meat is overcooked every damn time. Another thing I find hilarious now.

You know the real reason men BBQ? It's easy to clean the grill. Just crank up the flame until you could light a rocket to Mars and presto! No bacteria because it all turned to ashes. Then they rinse it off with the garden hose and call out, 'she's clean!' It's NOT clean. One time the Hubby hauled out his leaf blower to prove to me nothing could come off the grill grate. Men have to be right more than they have to make sense.

Leaf blower equals clean grill. No soap, radio.

"Another beer?"

Phil hands Jack a cold one. My husband is a gracious host, even though he doesn't drink. In fact, hubby doesn't like the taste of alcohol. I do. After the week I just had, I deserve a cold one. So I raise a bottle with Jack and we clink with a smirk passed between us. I don't know why I amuse him so much. Apparently, he's taken a shine to me. Maybe I represent something normal in his abnormal existence. He mixes the every day with the bizarre with such grace and aplomb. I'm still working on getting my mind around it all.

For my sake, he's trying to settle down the husband. Hubby keeps talking about moving. I'm not listening. You've got to be kidding. Don't you just know who would have to pack everything up? In the process more stuff would get destroyed. I figure three moves equal a fire for shear damage. I like this house. So, I'm not letting this opportunity get away. Besides, it's fun having a secret with a handsome neighbor man. Jack knows I know he knows I know. Okay that confused me. The point is that we are comfortable together. Maybe that's all he wants, just the privilege of hanging out.

Hubby goes to check the meat, again. It is still cooking. He's full of questions. Jack is keenly aware of it. He's going to handle it man to man. Jack watches Phil putter on the deck while he downs his beer, sizing up how to approach the guy.

"He's curious you know."

"I know. What did you tell him?"

"What you told me to say. I'm good at following directions. Jack he's not stupid."

"I didn't think he was." Jack watched the steaks come off the grill. We sit down in the kitchen to eat. I've got one of those large country kitchens that serve as a multipurpose living area. It's the best room in the house…after the bedroom. Yeah, I've still got it for him after all these years.

"Lived here long?"

"Five years."

"Nice neighborhood."

"Uh huh."

"Libby says you're a rocket scientist. That true?"

"Oh c'mon Jack, you know I am. You had us checked out." Phil stabs at his steak. "Let's not play games."

"Fair enough."

"Think those terrorists will come back?" He says that sarcastically.

"Doubtful."

"Uh huh, that wishful thinking?"

"Wouldn't worry about it," Jack eyes him then changes the subject. "You know Libby is a great gal."

"Yes, she has her moments." He knows I'm going to do what I'm going to do and doesn't like it. "I hear you want to hire her?"

"Yeah. I could use someone like her."

"I have to tell my security people what her job will be. What should I say?"

"Say she's working for the Air Force at the Pentagon."

"Uh huh. She thinks she'll be traveling. I hope she's not going into a war zone overseas?"

"She'll be ok."

"This ever happen before?"

Jack hesitates. He's framing his answer. I'm impatient with curiosity to see how a master at this will handle the matter. This old gal never had to lie to her husband about anything important, emphasis on 'had to'. The good news is that Hubby understands security.

But, alien abduction knocks this situation out of the ballpark.

Seems Brunehilde likes me. A lot. I'm her new best friend. Imagine my surprise. Imagine my husband's when I disappeared in a flash of bright light right in front of him. I'll never ever in my whole life forget the look on my husband's face when I beamed out of the kitchen.

Never.

He'll never forget it either.

"Jack, that what you call terrorists?"

"Sorta."

"Is it going to happen often?"

"Don't know. I'll find out soon. Anytime now. Yep, just about now. I'm just saying I'll know right now." He taps his watch, shakes it, and then puts the quartz battery watch to his ear, for no good reason.

"And?"

"And this time I don't know."

"Is it something less dangerous?"

"Probably not terrorists, Phil," flipping out his phone, he calls the SGC.

"General O'Neill for Landry." Shooting a look at my husband, Jack can see he was really getting agitated. "It happened again. Right. Yes, in front of her husband this time. Well, I'm still here on the phone, waiting. Still waiting. Send a couple of your guys to find out what's going on. Anything missing? Right."

"This could take a while."

"I want her back. Alive."

"I do too."

"Now that I know this much, are you going to fill me in?"

"No, not really, listen, it's been swell, but I need to get to my office to work the situation. I can't talk here."

When Jack stood up to go, he went, in a flash. At least that's how my husband described it to me later. I sigh with relief. He's here per my request. Brunehilde didn't want him up here, but I can be very bitchy.

"What took you so long?" I huff.

"Where's Thor?'

"Don't know."

"What's that sound?"

"She's crying."

"Who?"

"Brunehilde, seems she needed to talk."

"And?"

"She's so mad at Thor she threw him off the ship along with the crew."

"Aw crap! Where?"

"We haven't gotten to that part."

"Hildy, where did you drop Thor off?"

"I should have done this a long time ago," she wailed.

"I'm sure he had it coming, from what you told me. So what did you do to him?"

"Nothing like what he's done to me all these years."

"Ok, he's a skanky bastard," I soothed her. "I'll bet you came up with a way to fix his sorry ass."

They have asses?" Frowning at me to be quiet he addressed the distraught computer, "Libby, I'll do this."

"I wouldn't Jack."

"Hildy?"

"What?'

"Where's Thor?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I asked?"

"Say pretty please."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath and gave it his all.

"Pretty please, Hildy, tell me where you sent Thor?"

"Say it like you mean it."

"I mean it more than life itself. Where's Thor?"

"I want a body."

"Bring back Thor and I'll talk to him."

"You men are all alike. You make promises you won't keep. You use us and throw us aside for the next new model. Libby, why do they do it?" Brunehilde sobbed.

"It's their nature, girlfriend. They can't help themselves. So Thor's a hound dog is he?"

Jack leans over to whisper, "Do something?"

"Shhhhhh! I was doing something 'til you came," I give him a dirty look. "So make my day, Hildy. Did you drop him off on that planet where he dumped Jack and me, which by the way, was a planet of headhunters? Did you know I got shot with a poison arrow?"

"No! He did that?" She sounded horrified. I think she's playing me. How can she not know it? She's the computer system. Better to play along than anger a psycho computer lady whatever.

"He sure did. And if Jack hadn't known what to do, I'd be dead. We'd both be dead. Can you imagine?"

"That's awful. Thor is heartless. He never says sweet things. He never talks to me anymore. He doesn't love me!" She sobbed heartily.

Jack mutters, "The three most feared words in the English language."

"What?

"Talk. To. Me."

"That's so mean, Jack," Brunehilde remonstrates with him. "Thor was mean to me. So I didn't take his crap, just like Libby taught me."

"You _don't_ have to take his crap. I'd throw him out, too."

"That's the truth. I did throw him out."

"Yes you did. Good for you!"

Jack is wondering where all this is leading. Obviously, he never sat through a "man-bashing" session.

"You're making this worse," he says to me. "It's a computer! It's just a machine."

"You hush up," I look around for a place to sit. "Hey Hildy, can you make me a couple of soft chairs. If we're going to dish, I need to get comfortable."

Two really cushy chairs appeared.

"Got anything to drink. I'm kinda dry."

A pile of boxes appear.

"Aw crap! Not again." Jack goes over to the boxes and fishes out some sodas.

"Got a glass? I hate drinking out of the can." Jack gives me an impatient look. I shrug. We get a table with two clear glasses and some ice. I pop the can and pour carefully. I keep wondering if the little droplets will float off like in the Tang commercials in the '60s. I am so dated.

"Thanks, so Hildy, what else did he do to you? I mean what was the straw that broke the camel's back?"

"There were no straw and no camel, Libby," the computer chided. "Weren't you listening?"

"It's just an Earth expression, girlfriend. It means, what finally got you to throw him out? By the way, did you throw him out 'out', as in outer space or 'out' on some planet?"

"Oh, he's on another ship. Come to think of it, I would have spaced his atoms out there if I could but I can't."

"And why not?"

Jack hissed, "Don't give her anymore ideas."

I shoot him a look to be quiet. His hands fly up in the surrender motion.

"That's not necessary," I soothe. "You made your point to him. That's what it's really all about. I mean you can't tell him anything if he's dead. Right?"

"I suppose." She went back to crying. "I don't want to kill him. I want him to SUFFER!"

"You are so right. After what he's done to you..."

Jack is giving me an incredulous look. Geez, doesn't he know anything about women?

"Libby what happened to the rest of the crew?" Jack whispers behind his hand.

I shrug.

"Um, Hildy, where's the crew?"

Jack tries to get to the point. You tell them to be quiet and they can't let go of control. This is what I mean about the not listening. She's already refused to answer his questions. She yelled at him. She doesn't trust him. Now he's persisting anyway. What part of 'hush up' didn't he understand?

No soap, radio.

"They used me. Well I'm mad as hell and I'm not taking it anymore."

Jack's eyes say he's about to lose it. My turn. At least I get a direct response.

"I'd be angry too. So where did you send them?"

The computer giggled. I kid you not. The computer giggled.

"I sent them to Disneyland."

"Why Disneyland?"

"Someone should be happy," she wails. That machine is manic depressive. Up then down then up then down. Ever hear a computer wail? It's earsplitting. Snuffling she adds, "It's the happiest place on Earth."

"Of course it is!" Jack goes over to the console with the funny rocks. He moves them like a pro. I guess he's done this a few times. He's frowning. "Uh, Hildy, why can't I use the transporter?"

"I turned it off."

"Well would you turn it back on?"

"No."

"I can't let a couple dozen Asgard run loose in public."

"Not my problem." Brunehilde went back to sobbing. "I want out. I want a real body, not a ship."

_See what I mean? No soap, radio!_

"Think of all the great places you get to go," Jack moves the stones around the console. Suddenly he's talking to people I can't see.

"Who you talking to," I ask? Like I don't have a pretty good idea. "What did my husband say to me going all…poof?"

Jack doesn't want to talk about it. He's getting grief from so many directions because Thor is missing. I'm watching him work the controls to communicate with the Powers That Be wherever.

"Yeah, Carter. I'm up here. There's a bunch of Asgard at Disneyland. Long story. Just go get them. No I can't beam them up. If I could, we wouldn't be having this conversation. No, Thor is somewhere else. I don't know yet. Send someone to sit with Dr. Phil, Libby's husband. He saw the whole thing."

It's bad. I have no idea how far this has gone. No, I don't know how far, this galaxy or another galaxy.

I feel something strange.

"Jack, what just happened?"

"Hyperdrive," he checks something on the console. "So Hildy, where we going?"

"We are going to make the Science Council give me a body."

"You go girl!"

"Um, Libby, stop encouraging her." Jack sits down with me but he isn't happy. Get in line, pal. "Hildy, where's Thor?"

No answer. She's done talking. So we sit and wait about an hour. Jack spends the time conferring with the SGC, while I sit back and drink my soda. At least this time I am dressed. Another fine mess, I'm going to take a meeting with this Science Council and I've got no lipstick.

* * *

At the SGC, Teal'c, Daniel, and Sam changed into street clothes. Each checked their weapons and put a zat in their holsters. Teal'c flipped his hat in a smooth move settling it on his head over his gold tattoo.

"Colonel Carter," Major General Hank Landry greeted her. "The Daedalus is standing by to extract the Asgard on your signal. Hermiod is not there today, so Dr. Lindsay is operating the transporter. Once you are up there, you will be issued transporter locator tags. Just slap one on each Asgard and up he goes. Make sure you get them all."

"Yes, sir."

Sam disappeared with the rest. Once up there, a crewmember handed her the extra chips and off they down to one of the blind spots behind a ride.

"I suggest we split up to cover the most ground," Sam instructed. "Daniel, take Frontierland. Teal'c take Fantasyland. I'll go to Tomorrowland. If we don't find them in twenty minutes, move back to Cinderella's Castle. We'll cover Main Street and the parking lot together."

Daniel moved down the fake log fort gates into Frontierland. The first ride he decided to check was the _Jungle Cruise_ thinking they would hide in the foliage. No luck. Then he saw the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and figured they might like to hide behind the scenery. No luck. Finally, he tried the Indiana Jones ride but found out it has three endings with three different scenarios. No luck, but he identified with it. By then the twenty minutes were up.

Meanwhile, Teal'c wound up on '_Mr. Toad's Wild Ride'_ and _'It's a Small World'._ When it broke down, the Jaffa of infinite patience had no patience, listening to endless repetitions of the cutesy song from the 1964 World's Fair in New York. I saw it then the first time and it broke down, too. So the big Jaffa stood up and stepped into the shallow water to slosh his way out. Of course the attendants tried to exercise all the authority their young lives ever had, yelling at him to stop. One look from Teal'c made them shut the heck up. I wish he'd been with me all the times that stupid ride broke down.

Sam got lucky. In Tomorrowland, the Asgard congregated forming a montage in a flower bed. Some kids were touching them. After a sharp pinch, one had to blink. With delighted gasps, the crowd thought they were animatrons of Roswell Greys there for decoration.

"Found them," she gave directions.

While she did, some kid stuck his chewing gum on the back of an Asgard. Another kid pulled out a magic marker and drew something before his mother pulled him away. Some other tourist left a paper cup of soda on one's head. It blew over dousing another. A different kid left his half-finished ice cream cone in the outstretched hand of the end Asgard. The sprinklers came on in the flower bed soaking them. Sam waded in to stick the locator beacons on them. Once the area cleared a little, she beamed up with them to the Daedalus. Teal'c and Daniel came moments later.

The muttering and cursing made Sam wince. These folks were not happy. Two were sticky. Another was trying to pick off the gum while Gumby screeched. Sam had him taken to the infirmary for surgical removal of gum-on-the-bedpost syndrom. Another one was eating something. Suddenly, Daniel reached out, confiscating the half-eaten ice cream cone from the one who was devouring it.

"That's probably not such a good idea."

The Asgard hit him and tugged hard on his hand to release it. Then he went to a corner, eating it greedily.

Naturally, he threw up.

"Told you so."

Sam gave a disgusted look at Daniel and ordered an airman to clean it. The Asgard doubled over. That's when she read the message.

'KiLroY wAs hEre'

* * *

The phrase, 'global consequences' is a meaningless statement all of a sudden. At the moment, I'm riding around in an alien spaceship with 'Pinocchio' for the galactic set. Seems the computer wants a real body so she can be a real girl. If that doesn't sound as bizarre as I'm sure it does, hang on. I helped to rescue Roswell Greys from Disneyland. The gantze k'nocker Asgard is still AWOL. And the rest are mad as hornets, having faced the indignities of small wild human children and their parents… and a dose of sugar and dairy products. If sugar shock isn't the worst part, consider this: the mighty Asgard had to hide in public as an animatronics montage…naked. Adding insult to injury, some kids wrote graffiti on their little grey butts.

'Kilroy was here' doesn't cut it. _**You**_ should be so lucky not to read that on an Asgard tush. Yeah, I need this like a hole in the head…as my grandmother would say.

Jack continues to try to manage the situation while I listen to the play by play. Brunehilde is grumbling about him. Just like a man, he tries to _**DO **_something about it instead of listening and empathizing. Hasn't that man ever read _Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus?_ He's old enough to have read it. Men insist on trying to solve problems for us. We don't need them to solve the problem. We need them to LISTEN, for crying out loud. We can solve it just fine, but we want to whine about it for an hour first. I mean, it must be in their genes.

Duh. If he had just let me talk to her, she would have given us Thor. She wouldn't be able to resist telling me what she did to him. That's how it works, Major General! You are making this worse, not better. I'll give you a smack in the head if you don't stop it. Now she's really pissed off. If you would only listen… oh what am I saying?

It would be easier to ask men to give birth. Ever notice how they usually say 'no' before they even understand what you said? Last few times my hubby did that, I answered whatever he said with "no soap, radio" and he kept on talking as if that made sense! We were on a train going through a tunnel when I noticed there were sparkly things on the walls as we passed. I said, 'Oh look, it's sparkly!' He said, 'No it's icecicles'.

Will someone please explain to me this non-sequitor? I say 'It's sparkly." He says, 'No it's icecicles.'

No soap, radio.

If I get a comment card to fill out, this cruise gets a D minus. No staff, an unfulfilled computer dumping her problems on me, and a major general with terminal control issues. However, the bathroom is clean. The food is self-service if melting. I'd like to speak to Management about health code violations, but Management abandoned ship.

"So Jack," I burped from my fifth soda. 'I'm hungry. I didn't get to eat my own BBQ. Got any munchies?"

"You're taking all this awfully well."

"Just wait until my blood sugar goes off the charts. I'm not supposed to drink regular soda. I'm already hot flashing from the caffeine."

"Sorry I asked."

"So Jack?"

"What?"

"How long is this going to take?"

"It will take as long as it takes."

"I tell my husband that when…TMI."

"So Libby?"

"Yeah Jack?"

"You're not going to sue or anything like that?"

"Hadn't thought about it. Thanks for reminding me." I pop open my sixth can of soda and raise the can to him. "Best BBQ I've ever been to."

He looks at me with a question in those gorgeous deep set brown eyes. The absurdity of the whole situation hits me.

"Ever hear this one, Jack? Two polar bears are sitting in a bathtub. The first one says, "Pass the soap." The second one says, "No soap, radio!"


End file.
